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LIGHT AHEAD 


BV^ 


CECEIjIA a. c^ardiner. 




NEW YORK : 
PHILLIPS & HUNT. 
CINCINNATI: 
WALDEN & STOWE. 
1884. 


TZ3 

. Q-j (>sL 


Copyright, 1884, by 

PHILLIPS & HUNT, 


New York. 


LIGHT AHEAD. 


CHAPTEE 1. 

I T was a bright morning in May — merry, bonnie 
May — when a little girl,, whose head was lightly 
crowned with the scarcely perceptible weight of ten 
joyous, happy summers, came bounding down the 
massive stone steps of a stately mansion on Fifth 
Avenue, and, with a quick, elastic step, pursued her 
way to one of the many fashionable seminaries, 
where the denizens of the metropolis of the Empire 
State are promised for their daughters mental and 
moral training of the highest character. The parents 
of Maud Morrison, the little girl of whom we write, 
were very careful in regard to the religious instruc- 
tion of their beloved child, and had selected her pres- 
ent school from their knowledge of the principal as 
a lady of undoubted Christian character. 

As Maud walked rapidly on, her head and heart, 
as was natural enough, were full of the approaching 
mid-summer holidays, and already across her mental 
eye-sight came visions of the green fields and fresh 
breezes of Grandma Kodman’s farm, where every 
summer she spent so many bright and happy weeks. 


4 : 


Light Ahead. 


O, what fun she would have ! Her little cousins, 
Hellie and Fannie Ormsby, from Boston, would be 
there ; and then there would be Uncle Fred and Aunt 
Mary. O, it would be jolly, for Uncle Fred was so 
merry and generous, and Aunt Mary so sweet and 
gentle ; and she would be so glad to see them all. 

But there was another event close at hand, which 
occupied Maud’s thought this morning. Mamma’s 
birthday would occur on the next week, and she was 
puzzling her little brain in trying to prepare a sur- 
prise for her, in the shape of a present, which she 
would consider worthy the acceptance of one whom 
she so dearly loved. 

“01” she thought, “ I wish I had made something 
for her; but I haven’t had time. I have so many 
lessons, and I have to practice so much.” 

Maud forgot, as so many older people are apt to 
do, the little minutes spent in idleness, sixty of 
which make a whole hour, in which her deft little 
fingers might have fashioned some pretty useful gift, 
which would have been highly prized as a memento 
of a daughter’s affection and industry. 

“ Well, I can’t help it,” she thought ; “ it’s too late 
now. I wish I could get that lovely blue tie that I 
priced at Stewart’s the other day. It was three 
dollars, but it had such beautiful lace on it, and 
mamma looks so sweet in blue. I wish I had the 
money of my own. I’ll have to ask papa for it. He 
gave me two dollars yesterday, and I’ve spent, let me 


Light Ahead. 5 

see, twenty-five, thirty-five, forty ; I declare, Pve 
spent fifty cents ! ” 

Although Maud’s knowledge of arithmetic was 
somewhat limited, she saw at a glance that she was 
in possession of but half the required amount, and 
with a rueful face she thought, “Well, I’ll have to 
ask papa for it. He’ll tease me, I know, and call me 
a little swindler, as he always does, telling me I 
swindle him out of his money by hugs and kisses 
and false pretenses of affection. He’s a dear good 
papa, and he’ll give it to me, I know.” 

Having settled this matter to her satisfaction, she 
tripped lightly on, and arrived at school just as the 
bell was calling the scholars together for the opening 
exercises of the morning. Fully occupied with her 
teacher and studies, the day passed quickly and pleas- 
antly. We must not blame Maud too severely if we 
know that her thoughts paid flying visits to the blue 
neck-tie, and then went dancing off to the green 
fields of her grandmother’s farm, of which we have 
spoken. It required all the determination of which 
the busy little brain was possessed to chain her atten- 
tion down to those tiresome lessons which, it seemed 
to her, had never been so tiresome before. 

At last the hour for dismissal came, when Mrs. 
Oakley, the principal of the seminary, called the 
school together and said : 

“ Young ladies, I am about to make a somewhat 
novel proposition to you. You know there are times 


6 


Light Ahead. 


in whicli very many who have been in good circum- 
stances are reduced to poverty and sometimes even to 
the verge of starvation. Y esterday a case was brought 
to my notice which I consider eminently deserving. 
I think it only right that those of us, as is the case, I 
believe, with all of you, to whom God has given the 
good things of this life, should contribute of their 
abundance to supply the wants of those to whom he 
has seen fit to deny them. We are placed here, my 
dear girls, as you all know, not to gratify our own self- 
ish desires, not only to prepare our souls for a higher 
life in the bright world to which we look forward, 
but to minister to the necessities of those around us, to 
alleviate pain and suffering and want. We can do 
this, not always by the bestowal of money, or food — 
for a smile, a kind look, or a gentle word of en- 
couragement is often more precious to the heart of 
the sad and weary than the supply of actual want. 

“ The family of whom I speak are Americans, of 
good birth and education, reduced to poverty by un- 
foreseen and unavoidable circumstances. The father 
was a merchant in this city, but, owing to the insolv- 
ency of several firms in other cities, who were largely 
his debtors, he failed utterly and entirely, saving noth- 
ing from the wreck, but paying his creditors twenty- 
five cents on the dollar. 

“ The strain upon him has been too great, and the 
consequence is that his nervous system has yielded to 
the shock, and he is now entirely broken in health and 


Light Ahead. 


7 


spirits. He is prostrated upon a bed from which I 
think it extremely doubtful if he ever rises. I be- 
lieve his work in this world is ended, and unless 
something can be done for the relief of his helpless 
family, I fear much suffering and privation are in 
store for them. His wife is a delicate, refined lady, 
in feeble health, and unable to do much toward the 
support of the family.” 

“Have they any children, Mrs. Oakley?” asked 
Louise W entworth, in a tone of much interest. 

“ Yes, my dear, and it is for them particularly that 
I wish to interest you. They have a daughter, about 
seventeen, who is a fine pianist, and would be very 
grateful if she could procure some pupils. She is 
fully qualified to teach, having been instructed by the 
very best professors, and has also the additional ad- 
vantage of a genuine love for music.” 

“ Are there any little girls ? ” asked Maud, who was 
becoming interested, in spite of the blue neck-tie and 
the green fields. 

“Yes, there is a younger daughter, somewhere 
near your own age, my dear, a bright, lady-like little 
girl, and, I believe, one or two boys younger. I have 
stated these facts to you, thinking that those of you 
who feel interested in them might place the matter 
before your parents, and give them such assistance as 
they may think proper. I shall be pleased to act as 
almoner for any of you who may wish to aid them ; 
but as they are extremely sensitive, I think, perhaps, 


8 Light Ahead. 

it would be better for you not to visit them at 
present. 

“ There is one thing, my dear girls, which we can 
all do. We can each present their case before the 
throne of Him who is ever ready to listen to the 
cries of his people. Suppose before we enter upon 
our charitable work we kneel here together and sup- 
plicate for them the assistance of our great Helper, 
without whom we can do nothing. Thus we shall 
initiate our good work with his blessing.” 

In the midst of a circle of kneeling figures, with 
bared heads and reverent faces, Mrs. Oakley offered 
a simple prayer for the afflicted family, after which 
she said, 

“ Perhaps the young ladies would like to know the 
name of the family for whom we have been asking 
these blessings. It is Hamilton, which is, as you 
know, a highly respectable and quite an aristocratic 
one. I am going there this afternoon, and to-mor- 
row I shall be able to report more fully. In the 
meantime do not forget to remember them in your 
prayers to-night. I shall be very happy to assist you 
in any schemes which you may devise. Good-bye, my 
dear girls. May God bless and keep you all ! ” 

After the dismissal of the school our warm-hearted 
little friend, Maud, who had forgotten for the pres- 
ent all her own projects, went to Mrs. Oakley, and 
asked permission to accompany her on her errand of 
mercy. 


Light Ahead. 


9 


“ My dear little girl,” was the ready reply, ‘‘ I am 
very glad you feel disposed to go, and will take you 
with pleasure, if you are quite sure your parents 
would approve of your doing so.” 

“ O, yes, Mrs. Oakley, my mamma is always ready 
to help the poor, and teaches me to do so, too ; and 
if you will allow me, I should so much like to go and 
see that little girl. Then I can tell mamma all about 
her, and I know she will go, too.” 

“Well, darling, as our way lies past your house, 
suppose, while I am getting ready, you run on and 
ask mamma’s permission, and I will meet you at your 
own door. Then we shall both feel safer and hap- 
pier than if you went without.” 

So, donning her pretty sack and hat, she was 
soon tripping homeward to ask the desired permis- 
sion. Having obtained it, she stationed herself on 
the steps, watching eagerly for Mrs. Oakley’s ap- 
pearance. Her patience was not put to a very severe 
test, and, walking demurely by her teacher’s side, her 
active imagination had ample opportunity for exer- 
cise. The walk was not very long, and they soon 
reached the abode of poverty and sorrow. Such 
scenes were not new to Maud, for she had often ac- 
companied her parents to similar ones ; but she liad 
never in any such expedition met any one who 
seemed so much on an equality with herself — or, as 
Mrs. Oakley had said, a real little lady. All whom 
she had previously seen had been the children of the 


10 


Light Ahead. 


Irisli or German poor ; but now, when she saw one 
who was as good-looking and as well behaved as her- 
self, her tender little heart was touched. Maud had 
all the keen sensibilities and quick, genuine sympathy 
of real refinement, and to-day she treated this child 
of adversity with as much politeness and considera- 
tion as though she had been a little duchess. The 
two children were soon chatting together quite con- 
fidentially, and, on taking leave, Maud said, 

“ INTow, Alice, you will come to see me, won’t 
you ? ” 

Alice hesitated a moment, and then answered in a 
slightly embarrassed tone, 

‘‘ I would like to go very much. But you know, 
Maud, your mamma might not like to have me go to 
see you. I am not rich now as you are,” she added, 
as her lip quivered and her voice trembled. 

“ I^onsense ! ” exclaimed Maud, indignantly. “ My 
mamma is not so silly ; she likes me to associate with 
little ladies, whether they are rich or poor. You 
needn’t be afraid she will ever refuse to allow you to 
come to see me. It is only coarse, rude little girls 
that she forbids me to play with. She always tells 
me to remember that fine clothes never make ladies 
and gentlemen, but that tnie politeness springs from 
the heart.” 

“ I think your mamma must be real nice,” said 
Alice, in a meditative tone. 

“ She is real nice,” answered Maud. “ O, Alice, 


Light Ahead. 


11 


you would love her ever so much. She is not one 
bit proud, and she is so gentle and kind. !N^ow you 
will come, wont you ? ” 

Alice colored a little as she said, 

“Well, to tell you the truth, Maud, I haven’t any 
very nice clothes to wear, and I don’t like to go in 
my old ones.” 

“ISTever mind, that doesn’t make any difference. 
Why, Alice, there are two little girls who live in a 
big brown-stone house very near us, and every thing 
about it is elegant, and they have splendid carriages 
and horses, and they dress beautifully, but mamma 
will not let me play with them at all, because she 
says they are rude and selfish.” 

Alice made a promise that she would go if her 
mother would allow her to do so, and Maud bade her 
an affectionate farewell. 

As soon as she reached home she related to her 
mother all the particulars of her visit to the Hamil- 
ton family, and obtained her promise that she would 
herself visit them, and do all in her power for their 
assistance. 

“ O, mamma ! ” exclaimed Maud, in breathless 
eagerness, “ I asked Alice to come and see me. 
You will let her come, wont you? She said per- 
haps you would not allow her to come because she 
is poor, but I told her my mamma was not so silly. 
Say you will let her come, mamma, please.” 

“ I cannot promise you that, my dear child, until I 


12 


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liave seen her,” replied Mrs. Morrison. “ Her pov- 
erty will make no difference, and if I find her all 
that you represent her to be, I will invite her my- 
self.” 

‘‘ Thank you, dear mamma. How good you are ! ” 
exclaimed the excited child. “ O here comes papa. 
I must go and tell him all about it.” 

Away she ran, and jumped into her father’s arms, 
as he opened the street door, almost smothering him 
with kisses. 

O, papa ! come right in here and sit down. I 
want to tell you something.” 

“ What is it. Pussy ? Want some money to buy 
candy and gimcracks. I’ll be bound.” 

“ How, papa, do you think I only hug and kiss you 
because I want candy and gimcracks, as you call 
them ? ” 

“ Why they are what most little girls want, aren’t 
they. Pussy ? ” 

“ Yes, but they are not what I want now. I want 
something a great deal better. O, papa ! you don’t 
know what I’ve seen this afternoon.” 

He threw up his hands in pretended terror, and 
exclaimed, 

“ What, in the name of Jupiter, was it ? A kan- 
garoo, or an alligator, or a wild-cat ? Your eyes look 
as though you had seen all three.” 

‘‘ O no, papa, I haven’t seen any of these horrid 
things ; but I have seen a little girl no older than I 


Light Ahead. 13 

am — a real little lady — but she is awfully poor, and I 
want to help her.” 

“ But, my daughter, how did you come across this 
little girl ? Did mamma go with you ? I hope you 
have not been visiting these places without her 
knowledge and consent ? ” 

‘‘ISTo, papa. Mrs. Oakley told us about her in 
school to-day, and I asked mamma if I might go 
with her.” 

“ Go with whom. Pussy ? Your answers are as 
clear as mud.” 

“ With Mrs. Oakley,” answered Maud, laughing. 
“O, papa, her father — Alice’s father, I mean,” she 
added, correcting herself, “ was a merchant, and Mrs. 
Oakley says he failed in business. What does that 
mean, papa?” 

‘‘ Why, daughter, when a man is largely in debt, 
and cannot pay what he owes, he is said to fail, be- 
cause he does not meet his promises. Perhaps he 
gets goods on credit ; that is, he does not pay the 
money for them, but gives a note or a promise to pay 
in three or six months. Sometimes he sells goods to 
other merchants in distant cities or in country places 
on the same terms ; that is, they promise to pay him 
at a certain time. iN’ow, don’t you see, that if these 
merchants do not pay him, he, in his turn, cannot pay 
for his goods, and so, if he is an honorable man, he 
gives up all he has to pay his creditors, or the men 
to whom he owes the money. That is what people 


14 


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mean when they say a man has failed. But don’t 
puzzle your little head over these things.” 

“ Then that is what makes Alice’s father poor now, 
isn’t it, papa ? ” 

“ I suppose so, pet ; but run now and get me my 
dressing-gown and slippers.” 

Away she bounded, as light-hearted as any bird, 
and presently returned with the desired articles. 
Her nimble fingem soon helped him to divest him- 
self of his heavy coat, and arrayed him in a luxurious 
dressing-gown of drab merino, faced down the front, 
with sleeves turned up with blue silk, quilted most 
daintily, while a heavy cord and tassels of the same 
blue tint encircled his waist. Slippers of the same 
colors, exquisitely embroidered, incased his feet, 
showing that loving feminine hands ministered to 
his comfort. After seeing him comfortably seated 
in his easy-chair, Maud hopped into his lap, with her 
mind and heart full of her schemes. 

“ Where is mamma. Lady-bird ? ” 

“ She is coming down in one minute, but before 
she comes I want to tell you a secret. You musn’t 
tell mamma, will you ? ” 

“ A secret from mamma, Pussy ! I don’t quite 
relish the idea of my little girl having secrets from 
her parents.” 

“ O, but this isn’t any harm, papa. You know it 
is almost mamma’s birthday, and I want to make her 
a present.” 


Light Ahead. 


15 


“ O, ho ! ” laughed the indulgent father. “ I see 
how it is ; you want some money.” 

“ That’s it ! ” she exclaimed, gleefully, clapping 
her hands and laughing merrily. 

“ Why, why, what an extravagant little puss it is ! 
I gave you some money yesterday. A regular little 
swindler, trying to gouge her old father out of all 
his money.” 

“ There now ; I knew you’d call me a little swin- 
dler. But here comes mamma. Give me the money, 
please, quick ! ” 

She was too late, for, while she was speaking, Mrs. 
Morrison entered the room. 

“ Mamma 1 ” exclaimed Maud, “ I’ve been telling 
papa about Alice, and he is going to let me help her, 
I know.” 

“ I don’t know about that. I think we must take 
mamma into our counsels. I want her sentence be- 
fore I put my head in the fire. Do you know any 
thing about this case, my dear ? ” he asked, turning 
to his wife, who had seated herself by his side. 

“Is^othing more than Maud has told me; but I 
thought I would go and see them to-morrow, and 
ascertain all about it.” 

“ I would do so, and if we find that Maud’s gen- 
erous little heart and enthusiastic spirit have not run 
away with her, but that the case is really as she rep- 
resents it, we must do something for their relief. 
Maud, my dear child, do not think that I wish to 


16 


Light Ahead. 


check this spirit in you ; on the contrary, I hope you 
will always remember that God intrusts to us the 
means which we have in our hands, and if we refuse 
to assist the worthy poor, we are guilty of a great sin 
against him.” 

‘‘Yes, papa; but most of those poor people whom 
I have been with mamma to see were ignorant and 
dirty and disgusting, but these are so different. 
Alice has a sister, a young lady, and Mrs. Oakley 
says she would like to get some music scholars. I 
wish you would let me take lessons of her instead of 
that old German — he is so cross.” 

“ Take care, Maud,” said Mrs. Morrison. Do not 
speak disrespectfully of your teachers. Professor 
Gottfried is a most excellent musician, as well as a 
thorough instructor, and we know nothing of Miss 
Hamilton’s capabilities.” 

“ Well, mamma, but Miss Hamilton needs the 
money so much, and Professor Gottfried has plenty 
of scholars.” 

This was a powerful argument, and was not with- 
out its weight in the minds of people so charitably 
disposed as were Mr. and Mrs. Morrison. 

The next day Mrs. Morrison called to see the fam- 
ily in whom Maud was so much interested, and be- 
came fully convinced that it was a case which re- 
quired immediate attention, and also that whatever 
aid was rendered must be offered in an extremely 
delicate manner. Her own innate refinement and 


Light Ahead. 


17 


truly Christian character made her eminently fitted 
for a work where so much skill and tact were re- 
quired. She never despised or thought lightly of 
the poor and suffering, because she was a true fol- 
lower of Him who, when on earth, had not where to 
lay his head, and for his sake she tried to alleviate 

the condition of all who were tried in like manner. 

3 




CHAPTEK II. 

LICE HAMILTON, the little girl who had so 



A much enlisted Maud’s sympathy, was a beautiful 
child of about the same age as Maud. Her large, 
dark eyes shone with a thoughtful light not often 
seen in one so young, but, child though she was, she 
had known much sorrow, which had left its imprint 
on her intelligent countenance. As she sits by the 
bedside of her sick father, reading to him that word 
of life which is so precious to him now in the hour 
of his necessity, the sweet face seems almost too 
pure for earth. How, as the clear childish voice rings 
out those words which have been so comforting to 
the Christian in every age, “Let not your heart be 
troubled, neither let it be afraid,” a smile lights up 
the countenance of the sufferer as he murmurs, 

“ Ho, no ; I am not afraid. ‘ He doeth all things 
well.’ ” 

Then the heavy eyes closed in slumber, and Alice 
cautiously tiptoed her way into the next room, where 
her mother sat sewing. 

“ Mamma, where is Mabel ? ” 

“ She has gone out, dear, to make another effort to 
procure some pupils. Poor girl ! she has been very 


Light Ahead. 


19 


unsuccessful thus far, but we must keep on hoping 
and praying, Alice dear. Here comes Mabel now.” 

As the daughter entered the room with a weary, 
dispirited air, the mother asked, tenderly, 

“Well, daughter, what success?” 

“Hone, mother. I am sorry to say that I have 
spent my time and strength for naught. I went to 
Mrs. Mayhew’s, but she said that her daughters were 
progressing fairly under their German teacher, and 
she was unwilling to make any change, at present, at 
least.” 

“ Did you go to Mrs. Murray’s ? ” 

“Yes,” she replied, thoughtfully, “but received 
nearly the same answer. I find that most parents 
are unwilling to employ a lady. They, very natural- 
ly, I think, prefer German professors.” 

“You are tired now,” said her mother, soothingly; 
“when you have rested an hour things wiU look 
brighter.” 

“I am not in the least tired, thank you, mamma, 
only a wee bit disappointed. Hot discouraged,” she 
added, rallying quickly. “I mean to try again to- 
morrow. If I can’t do one thing, I can do another. 
Thanks to your kindness, I have been taught to sew 
neatly ; perhaps I may get a position in a store, or as 
a seamstress in some family.” 

“ Hever mind, Mabel,” said Mrs. Hamilton, gently ; 
“ you know the psalmist said, ‘ I have never seen the 
righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.’ ” 


20 


Light Ahead. 


0, mamma ! ” exclaimed Alice, joyfully, “ do 
you remember that beautiful hymn that I learned in 
Sunday-school ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, dear; repeat it, that we may keep its hope- 
ful words in our hearts.” 

Alice’s voice trembled a little at first, but, gaining 
confidence as she proceeded, she repeated the words 
which have imparted courage to many a doubting 
heart : 

“ Though troubles assail, and dangers affright, 

Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite. 

Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide, 

The promise assures us, ‘ The Lord will provide.’ 

“ The birds, without barn or store-house, are fed : 

From them let us learn to trust for our bread : 

His saints what is fitting shall ne’er be denied. 

So long as ’tis written, ‘ The Lord will provide.’ ” 

“ Now, mamma, I am sure ‘ the Lord will provide.’ ” 

Alice had been carefully trained in the things 
which belong to God, and the seed which had been 
sown in the good ground of that young heart was 
already springing up, and promised to bring forth 
much fruit to the glory of God. 

Scarcely had the voice of the little comforter died 
away when a knock at the door announced the ar- 
rival of a visitor. Alice arose, and opening the door, 
admitted Mrs. Morrison, whose bright face and cheery 
air soon produced their effect upon the occupants of 
that plain little room. After inquiring kindly about 
the invalid, Mrs. Morrison said. 


Light Ahead. 


21 


“ Miss Mabel, are you at leisure this afternoon ? If 
so, I should be glad of your company for a little while. 
Maud is extremely anxious to become a pupil of 
yours, and if you will favor us by taking charge of 
her musical education, we shall be very glad. Then 
Maud has some little friends who would also like to 
take lessons ; so, if you have no objections, I should 
like to introduce you to your new pupils, and you can 
commence your instructions whenever you please.’' 

Poor Mabel could scarcely restrain the tears, but 
she choked them back with an effort, and grasping 
the hand of her friend, she exclaimed, 

“ Thank you a thousand times, dear Mrs. Morrison ! 
how kind you are.” 

Mabel was soon ready to accompany Mrs. Mor- 
rison, who, with the most delicate kindness, intro- 
duced her to several of her own friends, whom she 
had induced to place their daughters under her care. 
Before she returned home she had some half a dozen 
names enrolled on her list, with full permission to 
commence her work at once. 

Entering the room with a swelling heart and a 
beaming face, she exclaimed, 

“ O, mamma, just think ! I have six scholars to 
begin with, and a promise of some others when they 
finish their quarter with their present teachers.” 

And then the sensitive, conscientious girl added, 
“O, I hope I am not taking them from any one 
who needs them as much as I do.” 


22 


Light Ahead. 


“ There, Mabel,” said Alice, with a sweet, trustful 
smile, “ didn’t I tell you the Lord would provide ? ” 

“ Yes, little sister, and so he has ; and I am so 
thankful.” 

“ My dear children,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “ I think 
we ought to thank him for his great goodness to us.” 

With grateful hearts they all knelt beside tlie sick 
husband and father, while this pious mother poured 
out her thank-offering to Him who had heard the cry 
of the needy. 

O blessed power of prayer to the tried and almost 
despairing soul ! O the sweetness of casting all its 
care on One who has not only the inclination but the 
ability to relieve the necessities of the importunate 
pleader! Where can we go when thick clouds sur- 
round US; when our way seems hedged up at every 
turn, but to Him to whom all things are clear and 
bright, “to whom the night shineth as the day?” 

Owing to Mrs. Morrison’s kind and timely assist- 
ance and her own skill and proficiency as a per- 
former and instructress, Mabel secured a good class 
of pupils. By this means she was soon enabled to 
add much to the comfort of the family, and occa- 
sionally to provide some delicacy for the precarious 
appetite of the invalid. Many a tempting dish, pre- 
pared by Mrs. Morrison’s experienced cook, found its 
way to the bedside of the sufferer, while nourishing 
cordials were provided by her own thoughtful care. 

Maud’s kind heart and busy brain were not so 


Light Ahead. 


23 


much occupied with her new friend as to cause her 
to forget the blue neck-tie and the pleasant entertain- 
ment which her mother proposed to give to a few of 
her intimate friends. Maud had obtained permission 
to invite a small number of her playmates, and was 
anticipating a joyous time. With the utter abandon 
of a free childish heart, which has experienced no 
shadow of care or disappointment, she gave herself 
up to the sweet delights of bright dreams of the 
future. To her life was enveloped in rosy clouds, 
whose golden edges beckoned her on to a bright, 
smiling existence. 

Her indulgent father always supplied her with the 
means of gratifying her innocent desires, and to-day 
the coveted article was in her possession. Try as 
she might, its lovely hue and filmy lace would come 
between her and her book, and thoughts of what 
mamma w'ould say, and how sweet she would look in 
it, would mix themselves up with arithmetic and 
grammar. On her way from school an idea which 
had been in her mind for some days occupied her 
thoughts, and she reached her home with a face and 
manner which betokened important business. 

Mrs. Morrison noticed the expression, but said 
nothing, knowing herself to be the recipient of all 
her daughter’s plans as well as her pleasures. She 
knew full well that out of the abundance of a heart 
filled to overfiowing, the gushing words would soon 
flow forth. After laying aside her hat, Maud seated 


24 : 


Light Ahead. 


herself by an open window, apparently engrossed in 
watching the passers-by. Presently she turned her 
bright face, all aglow with pleasant thoughts, toward 
her mother, saying, 

“ Mamma, I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“Ah,” was the smiling reply, “that is nothing 
very new or strange, is it, Maud ? ” 

“ ISTo, mamma, not very ; but I want to invite 
Alice here next Wednesday. May I, mamma ? ” 

Mrs. Morrison hesitated a moment, when Maud 
interrupted eagerly, “ I know what you are going to 
say, mamma, but I have thought it all over before- 
hand. You think Alice hasn’t any nice dress to 
wear, but please, mamma, give her one of my new 
white ones. We are just the same size, and she can 
wear it nicely. You know I have plenty, and you 
always tell me that I ought to divide my good things 
with those who have none.” 

“ Yes, daughter, I have no objection to your doing 
that. I am glad to see a generous spirit in my little 
girl. But, Maudie, I have been thinking whether 
it would be quite pleasant for Alice. You know you 
have already invited some of your school-mates who 
have heard from Mrs. Oakley all the circumstances 
of the case. Are you quite sure there is no one who 
would treat her rudely on account of her poverty ? 

I should be very sorry to invite her here and have 
her meet any one who would be inconsiderate of her 
feelings.” 


Light Ahead. 


25 


Maud assumed a thoughtful air for a moment, and 
then answered : “ I cannot think of any one who 
would do such a thing, unless it might be Lou Went- 
worth, and she seemed so much interested when Mrs. 
Oakley was telling us about Alice that I don’t think 
she would be rude.” 

Here the voice of Harry, Maud’s little brother, 
broke in, saying, “ O ’es, mamma, ’et her turn. Se 
so pitty.” 

Mrs. Morrison caught the little pleader in her arms, 
and, covering his smiling face with kisses, answered, 
“ Well, Harry, you have conquered. Maud shall in- 
vite her, and if she comes we’ll try and make it pleas- 
ant for her ; wont we, darling ? ” 

“ ’Es, I’ll div her my dum to pay wiz.” 

‘‘ O Harry ! ” laughed Maud. “ The idea of a girl 
wanting to play with a drum ! ” 

“ I should like to have Mabel come, too,” said Mrs. 
Morrison, thoughtfully, “ but she is so sensitive I fear 
she could not be induced to accept an invitation.” 

Maud was soon on her way, with a gleeful heart, 
to the house of her little friend. With the instinctive 
delicacy which she possessed in a remarkable degree 
for one so young, she made known her wishes. The 
invitation was easily enough given, but the subject of 
the dress was a matter of much greater difficulty. 
After setting forth in glowing colors the pleasure to 
which she looked forward, and her earnest wish that 
Alice should share it with her, she protested that she 


26 


Light Ahead. 


cliould lose half her enjoyment if Alice were not 
there. Turning to Mrs. Hamilton, she said, in plead- 
ing tones, 

“ How, dear Mrs. Hamilton, you will let her come, 
wont you? I have a pet scheme that I haven’t 
told you yet. I want to be dressed just like Alice. 
Wont that be nice, Allie? And we can do it, be- 
cause I have two white dresses almost exactly alike. 
Mamma had so much of the same kind of stuff that 
she had two dresses made for me. So, you see, you 
can wear one and I the other, and we’ll botli wear 
blue sashes, and look like sisters.” 

Maud forgot, in her eager excitement, that both 
wearing white dresses and blue sashes would not 
transform totally different complexions and features 
into the resemblance of sisterhood. 

Alice’s pure, pale complexion and glowing dark 
eyes contrasted well with her own rosy hue, golden 
locks, and laughing blue orbs. Maud’s cheeks were 
the color of a luscious peach painted by the sun and 
light of heaven, while Alice’s more nearly resembled 
a white rose in its hueless loveliness. Indeed, her 
father had often playfully called her his white rose- 
bud, from the colorless purity of her complexion. 
There was no suspicion of ill health, however, in 
the full, clear eye, the coral lips, and the linn, 
rounded limbs. If the expression of her face was 
thoughtful, almost to sadness, it was also sometimes 
full of joyous light, and her smile was as gladsome 


Light Ahead. 27 

and her laugh as merry as that of childhood is wont 
to be. 

Mrs. Hamilton at last gave her consent, and Maud 
threw her arms around her neck and imprinted a’ 
grateful kiss on the fair, delicate cheek. “ O Miss 
Mabel ! ” she exclaimed, suddenly turning to her, 
“ what a crazy, forgetful child I am ! I beg your 
pardon. Mamma told me — let me see — I was to give 
her love to you, and ask you if you will join us on 
Wednesday evening. It isn’t going to be a party, 
you know. Miss Mabel ; only a few of mamma’s 
friends, and some little girls, friends of mine.” 

‘‘Maudie, dear,” said Mabel, “please tell mamma 
that I thank her very much for her kind invitation, 
but that it will be impossible for me to accept it. 
You know papa is sick, and it would not be right for 
me to go and leave mamma alone. Besides, I had 
rather not. Mamma will know why.” 

“Well,” answered Maud, thoughtfully, “ mamma 
will be very sorry, I know, although she said she was 
afraid you could not come. Good-bye, Allie, be sure 
and come early, and dress with me, will you ? ” 

Alice gave the required promise, and, with an af- 
fectionate kiss, the two little girls separated, Maud to 
go home and give vent to her excitement in executing 
pirouettes, cutting up all sorts of antics, and frolick- 
ing with Harry, leaving Alice to think over the affec- 
tionate kindness of her friend, and wonder if she 
should enjoy herself among so many strangers. The 


28 


Light Ahead. 


thought almost took her breath away at first, but she 
remembered that she was going to be with Maud, 
and that was happiness enough. 

• At last the long-looked-for Wednesday arrived, a 
perfect day as ever smiled upon this fair earth. The 
sweet May sunshine and balmy air poured fresh hope 
and vigor into many a weary frame and despondent 
heart. Hyacinths, tulips, and other flowers were lift- 
ing up their bright heads as though thanking the 
Giver of all good things for the blessed spring-time, 
the seed-time of earth, when she opens her broad 
bosom to receive into it that from which she will 
yield us, in return, a generous harvest. 

Maud’s friends were invited at an earlier hour than 
the older guests, and so, in accordance with her prom- 
ise, as the day drew near its close, Alice started, with 
a beating heart and her mother’s kiss yet warm upon 
her cheek, while the gentle “ God bless you, darling ! ” 
was still sounding in her ears. What is there, this 
side of heaven, so full of pure tenderness as a pious 
mother’s gentle kiss and low-breathed blessing ? Alice 
was received with open arms, and the white dress and 
blue sash, which were in readiness for her, were quick- 
ly put on, and she was pronounced ready for presenta- 
tion to the guests, who would shortly arrive. Yery 
pretty she looked in the snowy dress, which fitted her 
lithe figure better than might have been expected had 
it been known that it was made to suit Maud’s plump 
proportions. The long, dark hair floating around her 


Light Ahead. 


29 


shoulders, the sparkle in the large eyes, and the faint 
glow which the unwonted excitement had painted 
upon the smooth cheek, made her a very pleasant 
sight to look upon. 

“ O, Alice, how sweet you look ! ” exclaimed Maud. 

“ ’Es, Allie, 00 ook awful pitty,” echoed Harry. 

“ Not half as pretty as you, you little darling,” she 
answered, running after him and trying to capture 
the frolicsome little pet. 

“ Harry,” she exclaimed, “ I want a dozen kisses ! ” 

“ Oo tant have ’em,” he said, playfully. “ Go tant 
have but dis one, taus, don’ oo tee, tumbody es ’ll ’ant 
turn too.” 

The guests now began to arrive — at least the 
younger portion of them. Alice was presented to 
each one with a grace and courtesy which were as 
amusing as they were admirable. ‘‘ My friend. Miss 
Alice Hamilton,” was the recipient of the most deli- 
cate and thoughtful attentions. 

After a while a group of the larger girls, among 
whom were Lou Wentworth and one or two more of 
Maud’s school-mates, withdrew themselves to a corner 
of the room, and Maud, whose eyes and ears were 
suspiciously open, saw haughty glances cast toward 
the spot where she and Alice were standing. Pres- 
ently she caught the low-spoken words, “ associate,” 
“ pauper,” “ insult.” 

In anxiety that Alice should not see and hear what 
she already knew, she hurried her away. 


30 


Light Ahead. 


“ Come, Allie, let’s go and find some of the girls 
and get up a nice game. It’s too stupid staying 
here.” 

But Maud’s precautions were taken too late. 
Drawing her through an open door which led into 
the conservatory, Alice exclaimed, with heaving 
breast and quivering lip, “ O, Maud, I must go home. 
I cannot stay here. Those girls are talking about 
me ; they despise me because I am poor.” 

“ Never mind ! ” was the indignant reply. “ Don’t 
mind them, Allie.” 

Maud was too truthful to deny, or to pretend that 
she did not know this to be a fact, and she was some- 
what puzzled to know what it was best to do to soothe 
Alice’s wounded feelings. But her sure safeguard 
came to her relief — her undoubting faith in her 
mother’s skill and ability to do any thing short of 
working a miracle. Here was the stronghold to which 
she always resorted in all her difficulties, and she was 
certain it would not fail her now. Why can we not 
all of us, at all times, under all circumstances, go with 
this trusting faith to Him whose love is dearer, more 
tender, and more powerful than even that of a 
mother ? 

Bursting into a fit of uncontrollable weeping, the 
sensitive child burst out, “ O, Maud, let me go home. 
I can’t see those girls again. They called me a 
pauper, and I know what that means.” 

Nonsense, Allie ! It’s no one but that silly Lou 


Light Ahead. 


31 


Wentworth. I’m sorry I asked her to come. You 
stay here, Allie dear, and I’ll go and tell mamma. 
You needn’t be ashamed to be seen,” she added, look- 
ing back as she left the room, “ for you look a great 
deal prettier and sweeter and more lady-like than any 
of them.” 

As Maud approached her mother she found her in 
close conversation with Mrs. Dunbar, a lady whom 
she knew to be one of her most intimate friends. 
Standing near by until they should be disengaged, a 
conversation fell upon her ear, which, as it so per- 
fectly accorded with the subject uppermost in her 
mind, entirely engrossed her attention. 

Mrs. Dunbar, who had been, unaccountably to her- 
self, attracted by Alice in the early part of the even- 
ing, kept wondering what was the subtle influence 
which seemed to draw her irresistibly toward the 
pale, shy child who seemed a stranger to almost 
every one but Maud. Suddenly the electric chain of 
memory flashed across her mind, and instantly there 
rose up before her the fair face and willowy form of 
her girlhood’s dearest friend. 

Crossing the room, with an irresistible impulse, she 
laid her hand upon Mrs. Morrison’s arm, saying, 
eagerly, ‘‘My dear Mrs. Morrison, may I ask the 
name of that little girl whom I have seen so much 
with Maud this evening? She resembles so much 
a former friend of mine, whom I once loved so 
dearly.” 


32 


Light Ahead. 


“ Her name is Hamilton,” was the reply, “ and she 
is a very sweet, engaging child. Maud is extremely 
fond of her ; indeed, they are almost inseparable.” 

“ Hamilton ! ” repeated the other lady, reflectively. 
“ I do not know whether that was the name of the 
gentleman whom my friend married or not. We 
were school-mates and kept up our intimacy until after 
my marriage, when I went abroad, where I resided for 
several years, and our correspondence finally ceased.” 

“ Then you have not seen her since her marriage ? ” 
asked Mrs. Morrison. 

“ Ho,” was the answer given in a tone of extreme re- 
gret. “ She was a sweet, lovely girl, and I would give 
much to renew the acquaintance. This little girl has 
reminded me of her so forcibly that my old aflEection 
seems renewed and intensified. She has the same 
spiritual eyes and mobile features. It does not seem 
possible that they can belong to any one but the child 
of Isabel. Do you know, dear Mrs. Morrison, what 
her maiden name was ? ” 

‘‘ I do not,” replied Mrs. Morrison. “ I only know 
that Mr. Hamilton was formerly a merchant, that they 
have met with many reverses, and that they are now 
in somewhat destitute circumstances. I have met 
Mrs. Hamilton frequently, and know her to be a 
woman of exquisite sensibilities. Although she is 
faded and worn because of anxiety and illness, I can 
readily believe her to have been in youth a very 
beautiful and attractive woman.” 


Light Ahead. 


33 


At tliis moment Mrs. Mqrrison became aware that 
Maud was waiting impatiently to speak to her, so 
turning toward her she said, in her usual gentle tones, 
“Well, daughter?” 

“ O, mamma,” was the reply, “ Alice is in the com 
servatory, crying ready to break her heart ! ” 

“ Crying ! what should she cry for ? She is not ill, 
I hope ? ” 

“ I can’t tell you now, mamma, because — ” here she 
hesitated and blushed slightly as she became aware of 
Mrs. Dunbar’s close proximity. “ O, mamma, please 
come, and let Allie tell you herself.” 

“Well,” answered Mrs. Morrison, “I suppose I 
must go, if Mrs. Dunbar will excuse me, and try my 
skill at heart-mending. I fancy it will not be a very 
difficult task. Little girl’s broken hearts are usually 
put together pretty easily.” 

With a bow and smile to the lady she followed 
Maud to the conservatory, where they looked in vain 
for the little white-robed figure, which was nowhere 
to be seen. 

“Why, mamma!” exclaimed Maud, in turn, 
“Where can she be?” and darting off, she ran up 
stairs in search of the missing child. Just as Mrs. 
Morrison turned to leave the room a smothered sob 
fell on her ear. Following the direction indicated 
by the sound, she approached an immense tub con- 
taining a large and beautiful flowering azalea. Here, 

crouched down behind this friendly shelter, sat the 
3 


34 


Light Ahead. 


object of her search, with bowed head and trembling 
frame. 

“ Alice ! my dear little girl, what are you doing 
here ? ” she asked, as she gently drew the little form 
to her close embrace. 

The flood-gates were freshly opened at these sympa- ^ 
thetic tones, and the weary head reposed upon the 
loving, motherly bosom, as she sobbed out, 

“ O ! dear Mrs. Morrison, please let me go home ! ” 

“ Go home, Allie dear ! Why do you wish that, 
darling ? Are you ill ? If so, we will try and make 
you feel better.” 

“ O no, no, I am not ill,” replied the still weep- 
ing child. 

With loving, caressing words, such as a tender 
Christian woman knows so well how to employ, she 
won from the trembling lips all the story of the 
wounded little heart. 

“ ITever mind ! ” she said, in soft, soothing tones ; 

“ it may be, Allie dear, that these little girls are more 
thoughtless than wicked, and perhaps they have not 
kind Christian parents, as you and Maud have, to 
teach them better. It may be the fault of their edu- 
cation; if so, it is not at all strange, dear, that they 
do not remember that Jesus our Saviour was so poor 
that he even had no home ; that he was not born, as 
they and you were, in a pleasant and comfortable 
home, but in a stable; and that his cradle was a 
manger from which the cattle had eaten their food. 


Light Ahead. 35 

So, Allie, don’t think aiij more of those foolish little 
girls, but think of that dear Saviour, the Lord of life 
and glorj of how he loves little children, and sym- 
pathizes with them in all their sorrows.” 

The heavy sobs had ceased, and the sweet, thought- 
ful face was lifted to that of the speaker, as the trern- 
bhng voice uttered, ‘‘ Thank you, dear Mrs. Morrison, 
you have done me so much good. You are just like 
my own dear mamma. She talks to me just as sweet- 
ly as you have done.” 

“ Now,” was the smiling reply, “ you don’t want 
to go home to mamma, I am sure, with that tear- 
stained face.” 

“ No, O, no ! I don’t want mamma to see that I have 
been crying. It would trouble her, and I wouldn’t 
worry dear mamma for the world.” 

“ That is right, dear, and I have a nice plan in my 
head. Now listen, while I tell you what it is.” 

Alice was all attention, as indeed she had been all 
the time, and Mrs. Morrison proceeded : “ John shall 
go and ask mamma’s permission for you to spend the 
night with Maud, and to-morrow we will go and have 
a nice drive.” 

Here, Maud,” called Mrs. Morrison, as her little 
daughter passed the door in frantic haste, “ here is 
Alice. Take her up stairs and ask Mary to bathe her 
face, and then go and find the little girls, who are 
probably wondering where you both are all this time. 

I must go now and join my guests. Go and be as 


36 


Light Ahead. 


happy as larks ; ” and giving each an affectionate kiss, 
she left them, as they tripped lightly up stairs to 
follow her directions. 

After having their faces bathed and their some- 
what disordered dresses rearranged, they came down 
again looking as fresh and smiling as though nothing 
had happened to mar their evening’s enjoyment. 
They were soon deep in the mysteries of “ Copen- 
hagen,” “ Hide the Handkerchief,” and other games 
in which little girls delight. Lou Wentworth arid 
one or two other little girls tossed their heads in 
contempt of such childish play, and preferred remain- 
ing down stairs to watch the older people. Finally 
becoming tired of this, they strayed off to the apart- 
ment whence merry sounds proclaimed the where- 
abouts of the happy group of boys and girls who were 
having, as they said, lots of fun.” Their dissatisfied 
looks and manner had no power to dampen the ardor 
of the others, although they repeatedly refused to 
participate in their pleasures. Even Alice was un- 
affected by it, for she remembered Mrs. Morrison’s 
words, and the sunshine had so entirely filled her 
heart that there was no room for the dark clouds of 
anger or discontent to find entrance there. 


CHAPTER III. 

O N returning to tlie parlor, Mrs. Morrison found 
Mrs. Dunbar still eager to pursue her inquiries 
in regard to the friend of her early days. Her enthu- 
siastic nature was fully aroused, and with her a sub- 
^ ject, once started, had no rest until it was satisfacto- 
rily disposed of. 

“ Do you think,” she asked, “ that I might speak to 
the little girl and ascertain if she is really Isabel’s 
child ? My heart warms toward her already ; the re- 
semblance is so strong that 1 cannot help loving her 
for that.” 

“Without doubt,” replied Mrs. Morrison, involun- 
tarily smiling at her friend’s enthusiasm. “ As soon 
as I can do so I will call her, and then you can speak 
to her about it.” 

Acting upon her promise she quietly withdrew, 
beckoning Mrs. Dunbar to follow; and pointing to 
the conservatory, she said, “Go in there, and I will 
bring her to you.” 

Alice was busily engaged, but cheerfully obeyed 
Mrs. Morrison’s gently spoken “Allie dear, I want 
to see you a moment.” 

Then leading her up to Mrs. Dunbar, she said, 


38 


Light Ahead, 


“ Here is a friend who would like to talk to you a 
little while. You will excuse me,’’ she added, smil- 
ingly, you know I must play the part of hostess, 
and my friends will think me very neglectful if I 
remain away longer.” 

“ Come here, little one,” began Mrs. Dunbar, hold- 
ing out her hand with an encouraging smile, “So 
your name is Alice Hamilton, is it ? ” 

“Yes ma’am,” replied the child, looking up at her 
with wondering eyes. 

Mrs. Dunbar, as was her habit, plunged at once into 
the matter by saying, 

“ Do you know, my dear little girl, that you look 
very much like a lady who was once a very dear 
friend of mine ? ” 

“ Do I ? ” replied Alice, innocently. “ They say I 
look like mamma.” 

“Do you know,” was the next eager inquiry, 
“ what was your mamma’s name ? ” 

“ Mrs. Hamilton,” answered the child, gravely, 
with all a child’s simplicity. 

“Yes, yes, my dear,” with a slight shade of impa- 
tience; “but can you tell me what her name was 
before she married your papa ? ” 

“ I know papa calls her Isabel,” she replied, smil- 
ing. “ He often says it is a sweet name.” 

“ I thought so ! ” Then, a bright thought strik- 
ing her, she asked, “ Is your grandma living, my 
dear ? ” 


Light Ahead. 39 

‘‘Yes, ma’am,” answered Alice, wondering at wliat 
seemed to her the irrelevancy of the question. 

“ What is her name ? ” asked the indefatigable 
questioner, thinking at last she was coming to the 
root of the matter. 

“ Grandma Hamilton,” was the quiet reply. 

“ O ! ” was the disappointed exclamation ; “ but 
haven’t you another grandma, Alice ? ” 

“ Ho, ma’am ; Grandma Warner died last summer.” 

“ There, I knew it ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar, in a 
delighted tone. “It is my dear friend Isabel, and 
you are her child. My dear little Alice, I love you 
already, for your mother’s sake. I wonder if she 
remembers me ? I must see her. Did you ever hear 
her speak of Mabel Winthrop ?” 

“ O ! yes, ma’am,” replied Alice. “ Why, that’s my 
sister’s name. I have often heard mamma say that 
Mabel was named after a friend of hers.” 

“Dear Isabel!” murmured Mrs. Dunbar, while 
tears filled her eyes as she thought of all she must 
have suffered since the termination of their intimacy. 
She remembered Isabel Warner as a bright and 
petted daughter of wealth and luxury, and to her, 
whose life had been passed on “ fiowery beds of ease,” 
the change was great indeed, and, according to her 
view, correspondingly great must be the unhappiness 
attending it. She was sorely puzzled for awhile, 
feeling that she must see her old friend, and yet feel- 
ing that that friend might not wish, in her altered 


40 


Light Ahead. 


circumstances, to renew a friendship of her bright 
and happy girlhood. 

At last, drawing Alice in a still closer embrace, and 
imprinting an affectionate kiss on her smooth, pure 
brow, she said, smiling through her tears, 

‘‘Allie, dear, will you tell mamma that you have 
seen her friend, Mabel Winthrop, who loves her just 
as much as when we were girls together ? Ask her if 
I may call and see her, will you, darling ? I am go- 
ing to excuse myself to Mrs. Morrison and go home. 
I want to be alone to think over this strange advent- 
ure. Good-night, dear. Try to persuade mamma to 
let me come and see her, wont you, Alice ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” replied Alice, wondering almost as 
much as did Mrs. Dunbar at the unlooked-for circum- 
stance which had brought them together. 

Going in pursuit of her hostess, Mrs. Dunbar found 
her dispensing smiles and acts of graceful hospitality 
to all around her. Intent as she was, to all outward 
appearance, only on promoting the enjoyment of her 
guests, her thoughts made frequent excursions to the 
conservatory, where she had left her friend and Alice. 
She was much interested in the affair, hoping that 
Mrs. Hamilton had indeed found a true and faithful 
friend. Seeing Mrs. Dunbar approaching, she moved 
easily from group to group without attracting any 
especial attention, and advanced toward her with a 
sweet smile full of sympathy and affection, the spon- 
taneous outgrowth of an unselfish heart. Laying her 


Light Ahead. 41 

hand upon her arm as they passed out together, Mrs. 
Dunbar said : 

“ My dear Mrs. Morrison, I know you will excuse 
me at this early hour, but I must be alone and think 
over this strange discovery. There are so many 
memories clustering around my heart to-night, that I 
want to live over again my happy girlhood.” 

“ Then you have discovered that Alice is really the 
child of your early friend ? ” asked Mrs. Morrison, in 
a tone of much interest. 

“ O, yes,” was the reply. “ She is a sweet child, 
the exact counterpart of Isabel. I must see her,” she 
continued, in some excitement, then hesitating ; “ but 
she was such a proud, sensitive creature. You do not 
think, in the changed position of affairs, she will 
refuse to see me, do you ? ” 

“ Ho, Mrs. Dunbar, I hardly think she will carry 
that feeling so far with one whom she has known 
and loved. Mrs. Hamilton is, as you say, proud and 
sensitive, but her pride and sensibility have been 
chastened and tempered by the fires of affliction. 
She is a Christian, a sweet type of womanly Chris- 
tian character, and I have no doubt will receive you 
joyfully. Did you intimate to Alice your desire to 
visit her mother ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the thoughtful rejoinder ; ‘‘I sent a re- 
quest to her that I might be permitted to do so. Alice 
seemed so embarrassed when I spoke of it that I 
thought perhaps she would be unwilling to see me.” 


42 


Light Ahead. 


“I visit them quite often,” answered Mrs. Morri- 
son, in a slightly hesitating manner, “and if it will 
please you, or in any way relieve your embarrassment, 
I will explain to her your delicacy in the matter, and 
your desire to renew your former intimacy.” 

“ Thank you,” she answered, gratefully, “ if you 
will I shall be so grateful. O, Mrs. Morrison,” she 
added, with much feeling, “when I knew Isabel 
Warner she was a lovely girl, the idolized daughter 
of wealthy parents, whose chief object in life seemed 
to be to minister to her enjoyment. I cannot under- 
stand how the wheel can have made so complete a 
revolution that, from being one of the upper spokes, 
I find her now on the under side. That is one of the 
things which is beyond my comprehension.” 

“Beyond the comprehension of any of us poor, 
short-sighted mortals,” was the gentle answer ; “ but 
perfectly understood by Him, ‘whose are all our 
ways.’ ” 

After settling that Mrs. Morrison should accom- 
pany Alice home on the following day, and deliver 
the message intrusted to her, the two friends sepa- 
rated, Mrs. Morrison to return to her guests, and Mrs. 
Dunbar to repair to the quiet of her own room, 
where she might indulge in a long, long retrospect. 

Maud’s delight knew no bounds when she became 
aware that Alice was to spend the night with her. 
“O, Allie!” she exclaimed, hopping around joy- 
fully, what a nice time we will have. Mamma has 


Light Ahead. 


43 


promised me a holiday, so that we can have a whole 
long day to play. Just think! we have never been 
so long together before in all our lives, have we, 
Allie?” 

‘‘No,” replied Alice, in the simple, matter-of-fact 
way so natural to her. “Perhaps you will get 
tired of me, Maud, and never want to see me again.” 

“Now, Allie,” answered Maud, “that is so like 
you.” Then giving her sunny head a most vigorous 
shake, and looking Alice archly in the eye, she con- 
tinued, “ You don’t suppose I’m so fickle as that, do 
you ? Do you ever think any body likes you, Allie ? ” 

“ Not much,” replied Allie, innocently. 

“Then you are very much mistaken,” was the 
decided reply of the enthusiastic little lady, “ for I’ve 
heard papa and mamma say what a nice little girl you 
are, and how much they like to have me play with 
you, because you are so quiet and lady-like.” 

Alice made no reply, but her pleased look gratified 
Maud exceedingly, and she went on with almost 
breathless eagerness, 

“ O, I’m so glad Lou Wentworth and all the girls 
are gone ; now I can have you all to myself.” 

True sentiment of every son and daughter of Eve, 
to wish to a greater or less extent to appropriate to 
self the beloved object. Of all her playmates, there 
was not one whom she loved as she did Alice, so that 
she was perfectly sincere in her expressions of attach- 
ment. There was about her a depth and sincerity of 


44 Light Ahead. 

character which rendered her even now, although so 
young, a valuable friend. All the ardor of a warm 
and enthusiastic temperament had been called into 
exercise by her acquaintance with Alice, and the 
unselfish little heart kept the brain planning schemes 
for her friend’s benefit and pleasure. 

Mrs. Morrison’s gentle voice now broke in upon 
the conversation, as she said, 

“ Come, little ladies, it is high time you were pre- 
paring for rest. You have had an unusual amount of 
excitement to-day. Let Mary assist you to undress 
immediately. Try to go to sleep at once, and leave 
all your talking until to-morrow. You will have a 
nice, long day. Harry’s blue eyes have been closed 
a long time. Then, pressing her darling’s rosy 
lips, and kissing each little girl affectionately, she 
withdrew. 

“ Come, Miss Maud,” said Mary, as the child stood 
toying with the narrow gold bands which she had just 
removed from the chubby arms. “ The two eyes are 
just startin’ out of yer head wid the wild doin’s yer 
had, and Miss Alice looks fit to drop. Let me git 
yez in bed quick, or ye’ll niver be wantin’ to git 
up in the mornin’. It’s slapin’ the whole blessed 
day yez ’iU be.” 

“ Don’t you believe that,” answered Maud, stoutly. 
“ Alice and I have lots of fun on hand for to-morrow, 
haven’t we, Alice ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Alice, with a faint attempt at a 


Light Ahead. 


45 


smile ; but tbe drooping eye and languid tone told of 
extreme physical exhaustion. 

“ Ah ! indade,” said the kind-hearted Irish girl. 
“Miss Alice is more dead than alive. Let me do 
that, dearie,” she said, as Alice was trying to unfasten 
the broad, blue sash which, at Maud’s request, had 
been provided for her. 

Mary’s deft fingers soon accomplished the disrob- 
ing process, and lifting the unresisting little form, she 
laid her gently down. The weary head had scarce 
touched the pillow ere she was wrapped in the sweet 
refreshing slumber of childhood. 

Two hours later, when Mrs. Morrison, before re- 
tiring, looked in, as usual, upon her sleeping children, 
she found Maud and Alice in a close embrace. Maud’s 
cheeks were flushed with the hue of health, and her 
long golden curls fell over the pillow in careless pro- 
fusion, making a charming picture of childish inno- 
cence ; while Alice’s cheeks and brow were of marble 
whiteness, contrasting almost painfully with the lux- 
uriant dark hair and the coral lips, which were 
slightly parted, revealing the small, even teeth within. 
She lay motionless, and Mrs. Morrison almost started 
as she looked upon that which so closely resembled 
the last dreamless slumber. The strong contrast be- 
tween her own bright, healthful Maud, and the fair, 
fragile beauty of her little bed-fellow, impressed the 
mother deeply. 

Passing into the nursery, she approached the crib. 


46 


Light Ahead. 


where lay little four-year-old Harry. The golden 
rings of his bright hair lay loose and damp upon the 
broad white brow ; the bright eyes were closed, and 
the long lashes swept the rosy cheeks, while upon the 
sweet, dimpled mouth rested a happy smile. The 
mother gazed upon the lovely semblance of peace 
and purity, thinking, “Here, surely, is a ‘fit tem- 
ple for the indwelling of the Holy Ghost.’ O, 
that he may always be kept ‘ safe in the arms of 
Jesus ! ’ ” 

Then, kneeling by the side of the unconscious ob- 
ject of a Christian mother’s holiest earthly love, and 
with swelling heart and moistened eyes, she prayed 
for her own darlings and for “ the stranger who was 
within her gates,” commending them all to the watch- 
ful care of the “Guardian of Israel, who neither 
slumbers nor sleeps.” 

“ Maud, are you awake ? ” asked Alice, softly, the 
next morning. 

“ Yes,” answered Maud, drowsily, “ but I’m awfully 
sleepy. Aint you, Allie ? ” 

“ Ho,” said Alice, “ I was just wondering how the 
angels feel in the morning.” 

“ What, when they first wake up, do you mean ? ” 
asked Maud, too sleepy to think much about angels or 
any thing else. 

“ O no ! I don’t believe they do wake up. I guess 
they don’t go to sleep at all as we do, because you 
know, Maudie, they don’t get tired as we do ; ” but 


Light Ahead. 


47 


Alice was pursuing her theological disquisition un- 
heeded, for Maud was fast asleep. 

The sun was streaming brightly in through the 
open windows, and the birds were trilling their gush- 
ing morning songs of praise ; but, fatigued with think- 
ing and with last night’s unusual effort, Alice, too, 
was soon wrapped in a quiet slumber. Waking an 
hour later, she found Maud sitting up in bed, rubbing 
her eyes, and looking at her as though trying to recall 
her scattered senses. 

“ O Allie ! ” she exclaimed, “ it seems so funny to 
have you here with me when I wake up, and so nice,” 
she added, impulsively, “ I wish you were here all the 
time. O, wouldn’t it be nice if you were my sister ? 
You could go to school with me, you know, and take 
music lessons, and play with me, and — and — and love 
me. I do wish you were ! ” 

“ Do you ? ” asked Alice, in a listless, absent sort of 
way. O, Maud, I’ve just had such a lovely dream ! 
I thought an angel, with beautiful, shining wings, 
came to me and asked me how I felt this morning.” 

“ O,” interrupted Maud, clapping her hands, “ how 
funny ! I wish one would come to me.” 

“ Sh-h ! ” said Alice, raising her hand with an awed 
gesture, “ I haven’t told you all yet. He said that he 
came from heaven, and that it was, O ! such a beauti- 
ful place. I think this earth is very beautiful, but 
he said that heaven was a great deal more so. He 
said his name was Gabriel, and that he was going to 


48 


Light Ahead. 


be my guardian all the time while I live here, and 
that when God is ready to take me to heaven he 
would come for me.” 

“ I wonder what that means,” said Maud, thought- 
fully. “ We’ll ask mamma by and by.” 

“ What ? Guardian ? ” asked Alice. O ! I think I 
know what it means. I don’t know as I can tell you 
exactly, Maudie, but I think it means that he is going 
to take care of me as long as I live.” 

“ Isn’t that nice ? ” exclaimed Maud. “ I wonder 
if he wont take care of me, too.” 

“Well, you know, God takes care of us all, but 
may be he sends angels to do it, just as your mamma, 
when you want any thing, doesn’t go and do it her- 
self alone, but she sends a servant. I wonder if this 
angel will come for me soon. O, Maud,” she ex- 
claimed, bursting into tears, “my papa is going to 
die, I know ! I do hope he will come for him — the 
angel 1 saw, I mean, he was so beautiful and kind.” 

Maud threw her arms around the neck of the syir- 
ituelle little creature, on whose long lashes the tears 
were still trembling. “ Don’t talk so, Allie. I know 
what made you dream that, because, don’t you re- 
member, you were talking to me about angels before 
you went to sleep. That was it, I know,” she added, 
triumphantly ; “ so don’t think any more about it now, 
and by and by you can tell mamma, if you like.” 

Alice made no reply, but relapsed into a dreamy 
silence, from which Maud, with the natural versatility 


Light Ahead. 


49 


of her disposition, aroused her by saying, in joyous 
tones, “ O, it’s just a splendid day, and we’re going 
to have a splendid time.” Here Maud’s ecstasies were 
interrupted by the entrance of Mary, and the atten- 
tion of both was so much occupied by the duties of 
the bath-room and toilet that the angel was not fur- 
ther discussed, and, by one at least, was forgotten. 

Mrs. Morrison was a judicious as well as an indul- 
gent mother, and, knowing that both little girls would 
weary of a whole day spent in play, she had provided 
amusement of a different character. So, calling Maud, 
as they were leaving the breakfast-room, she said, 
“ When you and Alice get tired of playing, come to 
me and I will find something else for you to do.” 

They were soon immersed in the pleasures of the 
play-room, and Alice’s dark eyes and pale features 
were lighted up with an unusual glow as she became 
absorbed in examining Maud’s wealth of childish 
treasures. The dolls were undressed and put to 
bed for their morning nap, the wardrobe examined, 
commented upon, and admired, and, the nap having 
been finished, the inanimate objects of their care and 
solicitude must be taken out for an airing in their 
carriage. With the true motherly instinct, which ex- 
ists in most feminine breasts, they passed the morning 
pleasantly in petting and fondling the dolls, and in 
those amusements which are so dear to the heart of a 
little girl. 

At last, becoming somewhat weary, Maud sug- 
4 


50 


Light Ahead. 


gested that they should go and see what new pleasure 
her mother had in store for them. Mrs. Morrison 
produced a geographical puzzle, in which it was in- 
geniously arranged that the climate, productions, and 
nationalities of every part of the globe should be 
properly assorted and put together. 

The knowledge of both was severely taxed, and 
they were often obliged to apply to their kind enter- 
tainer for assistance. So busily occupied and so 
happy had they been, that no thought of the angel 
had entered their heads until, at luncheon, Maud cast 
her eye upon a picture in which the representation of 
one was placed in a conspicuous position. 

“ O, mamma,” she exclaimed, “ Alice dreamed that 
she talked with an angel.” 

“ Did you, Alice, dear ? ” asked Mrs. Morrison, in 
an encouraging tone. “That must have been a 
pleasant and profitable conversation, I should im- 
agine.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Alice, blushing deeply. 
“ But, Maud, I don’t think I talked with him, for I 
don’t believe I answered him at all. I was too much 
— not frightened exactly — I don’t know quite what it 
was ; ” and she looked up at Mrs. Morrison with an 
appealing look. 

“ Awed, I suppose you mean,” she replied, gently. 
“ A sort of solemnity that you dare not break ; 
wasn’t that it, dear ? ” 

“ O, thank you ! that was just it.” 


Light Ahead. 


51 


“ What is a guardian angel, mamma ? ” interrupted 
Maud. ‘‘ He told her that he would be her guardian 
angel. Alice says she thinks she knows what it 
means, but I don’t.” 

“ A guardian angel,” answered Mrs. Morrison, “ is 
one who is supposed to have the special charge of a 
particular person, to supply his wants, to keep or 
guard him from evil influences, and from yielding to 
temptation.” 

After much persuasion Alice was induced to relate 
her dream, and ended by asking Mrs. Morrison, 
“ Don’t you think we all have guardian angels ? ” 

“ There is no doubt, my dear child,” she replied, 
“ that whether we have the agency of any particular 
angel or not, a kind and watchful care is exercised 
over us, and that our heavenly Father, by his Holy 
Spirit, is influencing us for good.” 

“ I should like to think,” said Maud, “ that an angel 
was always near me, watching me, because then it 
for me would be easier for me to be good.” 

‘‘Maud, dear, would you rather please an angel 
than to please the dear Saviour who loves you so 
much more than an angel can, and has done so much 
more for you ? ” 

“Why, no, mamma,” she replied, looking up, 
doubtfully. 

“Well, my dear, let this be your motive for trying 
to do right — that the Saviour is always watching be- 
side you, and is grieved when you do wrong.” 


52 


Light Ahead. 


Thank yon, mamma,” she answered, thoughtfully, 
“ I will try to remember.” 

“ Now,” said Mrs. Morrison, rising from the table 
with a bright smile, “ we must prepare for our drive, 
for I promised to deliver this little lady safely to her 
mother.” 

The two little girls scampered away, and were soon 
enjoying the beauties of Central Park. The fresh, 
clear air of that lovely May-day seemed like balm, or 
a draught of pure, strength-giving cordial, infusing 
new life into Alice’s delicate frame, and rendering 
Maud’s naturally jubilant spirits almost hilarious. 

As they drew near Alice’s home she slipped her 
slender little hand into that of her friend, saying, 
timidly, 

“Thank you, dear Mrs. Morrison. I have had 
such a nice time ! ” 

“ My dear little girl,” was the gentle answer, “ you 
shall have such a nice time often. Whenever mamma 
can spare you, you are always welcome to stay with 
Maud and share her pleasure.” 

The carriage stopped, and no reply was made ; but 
the bright tears which gathered in the dark eyes, and 
the grateful, wistful expression, were more eloquent 
than words. 

Mrs. Morrison alighted and entered the house, to 
fulfill her promise to Mrs. Dunbar, where for the 
present we will leave her. 



HE morning after the incidents recorded in the 



-L last chapter, Lou Wentworth entered her moth- 
er’s sitting-room, after a late breakfast, with a dissat- 
isfied expression of countenance, and in a fretful voice 
drawled out, 

“ O, I’m awful tired. I didn’t have a good time 
last night a bit.” 

“ Didn’t have a good time ! ” said her mother, look- 
ing up languidly from a luxurious lounge, in whose 
springy depths she was cosily ensconced, How was 
that?” 

O, I don’t know,” answered Lou, a little ashamed 
of the part she had played. “Alice Hamilton was 
there, that little girl that Maud is so crazy about, and 
I didn’t want to play with her, and it was awful 
stupid.” 

“ Play with her, indeed ! ” was the mother’s reply. 
“ I’m glad you have self-respect enough to keep from 
associating with such trash. I’m surprised that Mrs. 
Morrison allows Maud to be so intimate with her.” 

“ O,” replied Lou, quickly, “ Mrs. Morrison likes to 
have Maud play with her. She makes a great deal 
more of her than she does of me.” 

“ Well,” replied the mother, rousing up from her 


54 


Light Ahead. 


attitude of listless ennui, “if Mrs. Morrison allows 
her daughter to associate with paupers, I shall cer- 
tainly withhold my consent to your visiting her. The 
idea of bringing in that pauper child to associate with 
my daughter ! It is an insult, and I shall resent it by 
refusing all further invitations which you may receive 
from them. Eemember, I forbid you holding any 
intercourse with Maud in future, even in school.” 

Lou, who was an apt scholar of her worldly teacher, 
answered, pertly, “ You needn’t be alarmed. I don’t 
want to go there any more than you want me to. 
The Morrisons are so dreadfully good and particular 
that I don’t feel good there.” 

“ Particular ! ” answered Mrs. Wentworth, with a 
slight sneer. “ They don’t seem to be very particular 
in their choice of associates for their daughter, to say 
the least of it.” 

Lou had unconsciously expressed the very feeling 
which is entertained by many a one on whose head 
rests the weight of more years than she had ever 
known. It was the feeling of the incongruity, the 
lack of congeniality, between those who serve God 
and those who serve him not. Though the white 
robes of the saint may, by the grace of God, remain 
unsoiled and spotless by the contact, yet the purity of 
character and the daily life of the one are a constant, 
although it may be an unacknowledged, reproach to 
the other, or, as Lou’s childish mind expressed it, 
they do not ^^feel goodP “ For what fellowship hath 


Light Ahead. 


55 


rigliteoHsness with unrighteousness? and what com- 
munion hatli light with darkness? and what concord 
hath Christ with Belial ? ’’ 

Mrs. Wentworth, as the above conversation will 
show, was a weak-minded woman of limited educa- 
tion, who had been lifted to her present affluent cir- 
cumstances by one of those seeming accidents out of 
which Providence so often works grand and wonder- 
ful results. Early in life she married a poor young 
man, who was clerk on a small salary in a clothing 
store. Being steady and industrious, he managed to 
save a small sum, with which he speculated, on an 
exceedingly limited scale, of course; but the small 
beginnings, like the ten talents, gained other ten, and 
thus, gathering courage from his success, he increased 
his risks, until, having lanched out on a gigantic 
venture, he secured his present colossal fortune. Like 
many another of fortune’s favorites, Mrs. Wentworth, 
not having sufflcient mental ballast to bear so sudden 
and so immense an elevation, immediately began to 
hold her head above all whose establishments were 
not on a scale of equal elegance with her own. As 
her head was exceedingly light, and her physical pro- 
portions amounted to a good solid weight in avoirdu- 
pois, what wonder that she sometimes lost her mental 
balance and became guilty of sundry indiscretions? 
'Not unfrequently, since her accession to the dignity 
and splendor of her present position, had her pride 
been stung and insulted by allusions to her husband’s 


56 


Light Ahead. 


former occupation. Her indignation knew no bounds 
when, upon one occasion, she heard the remark from 
a former friend, whom now she never deigned to no- 
tice, that “ Patty Wentworth needn’t put on so many 
airs ; her husband was nothing but a tailor, and used 
to sit cross-legged, with his goose alongside of him. 
Didn’t she know all about it ? How Patty used to sit 
and sew with him. Mebby she’d forgot all about 
them days.” 

Whether Mrs. Wentworth had forgotten these cir- 
cumstances or not, it was very evident that her quon- 
dam friend still remembered them, and delighted 
occasionally to vex her ears by rehearsing them where 
she knew she could not fail to hear them. 

The next Monday morning, at the recess. May 
Clement, one of Maud’s school-mates, said to her, 
“Lou says she is not going to visit you any more, 
because you associate with paupers.” 

“ Paupers ! ” exclaimed Maud, indignantly ; “ I know 
who she means by that. She was offended because I 
invited Alice Hamilton the other night. She is no 
pauper, if Lou does call her so ; and mamma says that 
she is much more lady-like, in appearance and man- 
ner, than Lou herself. I love her dearly — she is a 
sweet girl. May, you ought to know her.” 

“ She is a nice-looking girl,” was the rather indif- 
ferent reply ; but isn’t she dreadfully poor, Maud ? ” 

“ What difference does that make ? ” asked Maud, 
quickly, the hot blood surging over neck and brow. 


Light Ahead. 


57 


“Why, you know, poor people are not fit friends 
for us. It may be all right for us to go and see them, 
and give them money and things ; but I don’t want a 
poor girl for my friend, do you ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Maud, promptly, “ if she is a nice 
girl. Alice Hamilton is just as good as you or I. 
They used to be very rich ; but they grew poor, be- 
cause her father lost all his money ; I don’t exactly 
understand how, but he did, anyway, and now he is 
sick and can’t do any thing for them.” 

“ Well, but they live in a poor, mean place, and 
don’t dress nicely, as you and I do.” 

“ I don’t care any thing about that. My Sunday- 
school teacher said, yesterday, that it is Christlike to 
take the part of the poor and those who have no 
lielper ; and mamma says so, too ; and she says that 
if Christ was not too proud to associate with and 
do good to those who are poor, that we ought not to 
be so.” 

Thus did this fearless little champion fight the cause 
of her friend, determined that, no matter what others 
might say, she would closely adhere to this object of 
her warm affection. 

Maud’s was no saintly nature, but rather essentially 
of the earth earthy ; yet in lier heroic little soul she 
bore a fearless independence which enabled her to 
espouse the unpopular side, and an instinct of protec- 
tion toward any object less strong than herself. This 
disposition had always been fostered by her parents, 


58 


Light Ahead. 


who most earnestly desired to see their child grow up 
a single-hearted follower of Him who was rocked in 
the cradle of poverty. 

While Maud was so valiantly vindicating the cause 
of her gentle little friend, the latter, with equal or, 
perhaps, superior heroism, was bearing the pangs of a 
wounded spirit. Notwithstanding the saying of the 
sacred writer — ‘‘a wounded spirit, who can bear?” — 
many a poor frail child of dust goes through life with 
its corroding influence constantly at work. Like the 
heart of a tender flower, which hides itself beneath its 
delicate petals in order to avoid contact with the 
rude, cold breath of winter, or the furious blast of the 
rising storm, so did Alice withdraw into the warmth 
and shelter of the home circle. More and more did 
she hide within her own breast the almost morbid 
shrinking she entertained of again meeting such a 
shock to her highly- wrought sensitive feelings. She 
would never add a feather’s weight to her mother’s 
distress by revealing one pang that rent her childish 
heart, but into the sympathetic ears of her sister, Ma- 
bel she poured the tale of the mortification and grief 
which had so shaken her frame on the night of Maud’s 
party. 

Never mind, darling,” answered the affectionate 
counselor and friend ; “ we will cling the closer to 
each other. We ought not to murmur, Alice dear, 
because God has taken from us the luxury and splen- 
dor we used to enjoy. We can love each otlier just 


Light Ahead. 


59 


as well, and perhaps we shall love him all the more, 
because we have not earthly pleasures to wean us 
from him.” 

Throwing her arms around her sister’s neck, and 
bursting into a fresh paroxysm of weeping, she ex- 
claimed, “ O, Mabel, do you think God is going to 
take papa, too ? ” 

Mabel’s eyes became humid as she answered, “I 
fear he is, Allie darling, but we can give up even 
our father into the hands of One wdio loves him still 
better than we do ; can we not, dearest ? ” 

Alice did not reply for a moment, but the elder 
sister became conscious of a close pressure of the 
slender arms encircling her neck, and noted the 
tightening of the fingers already firmly interlaced, 
and knew that the brave little heart was nerving itself 
to its utmost tension. 

Mabel tried with soothing, loving words to quiet 
the agitated child, and at length, with her head re- 
posing on the bosom of her gentle sister, Alice 
related her dream, saying, as she concluded her de- 
scription, 

“ O, Mabel, if papa is going to heaven, I hope that 
beautiful angel will come and take him.” 

Meantime Maud’s active body and busy little 
brain were wholly engrossed by preparations whicli 
were being made for a grand closing Keception ” to 
be given by Mrs. Oakley’s school. Our enthusiastic 
little friend had entered into the arrangements with 


60 


Light Ahead. 


her usual impetuosity, and had thoroughly learned 
her part and rehearsed it times innumerable, lest by 
any possibility at the last and decisive moment her 
memory might prove recreant. 

“ O, mamma,” she exclaimed, one day, “ I believe 
I should die if I should fail.” 

‘‘No, no, Maudie,” was the calm reply; “I think 
it would take much more than that to kill you.” 

“ But, only think, mamma, you will be there, and 
papa, and all those strange people. 1 should be so 
ashamed, I should feel awful.” 

Maud was not always very particular about her 
grammar when she was excited, but, seeing her mother’s 
rising smile, she quickly added, “ O, I mean, awfully.” 

“ I do not think there would be any occasion to 
feel ‘ awfully,’ as you express it, even though such a 
catastrophe should happen. Papa and 1 would both 
know that our little daughter had tried her very best, 
and probably others would know it also. While I 
should be very sorry not to have you do credit to your 
teachers as well as yourself, I do not think it would 
be, by any means, unpardonable. So, dear, I 
wouldn’t think so much about it. Lay aside your 
part for the present. By keeping it so constantly in 
your mind, and dreading failure, you are becoming 
nervous and excited, and your brain will get so con- 
fused that you will be very likely to bring on the very 
thing you so much dread. Put on your hat now and 
run out in the garden. A breath of fresh air and a 


Light Ahead. 


61 


cliat with the birds and butterflies will freshen you 
up wonderfully.” 

The good taste and judgment of the principal had 
lent their aid in the decoration of the rooms on the 
evening of the closing exercises. Bare exotics 
bloomed in every available spot, while the verdant 
and graceful smilax twined the pillars or drooped in 
graceful festoons. An exquisite flower piece, in the 
form of an angel with outstretched wings, was sus- 
pended from the ceiling by a wire so fine as to be 
almost invisible. As this symbol of an aerial visitant 
hovered over the heads of the assembled pupils, he 
seemed as though breathing from his perfumed 
wings a blessing from the spirit world. 

Texts of Scripture, elegantly illuminated, on fields of 
snowy silk, were disposed about the room : one bearing 
the inscription, “ Seek ye the Lord while he may be. 
found ; ” another presented the invitation, ‘‘ My 
daughter, give me thy heart;” still another, “ Praise 
ye the Lord ; ” while upon a blue ground, exquisitely 
emblazoned in silver letters, were the words, “ Speak, 
Lord, for thy servant heareth.” 

Precisely at eight o’clock the scholars marched in 
procession, singing the following hymn, composed 
and set to music for the occasion : 

“School-mates and friends, dear Lord, to thee 
We come, a little band, 

And ask before thee, bending low, 

A blessing at tby hand. 


62 


Light Ahead. 


“ To day we meet to part again, 

To sever the bright chain 
"Whose golden links, through all our lives, 

In memory shall remain. 

“ Perchance again within these walls 
Each one her place may find ; 

The battle fight, the victory win. 

With strong and eager mind. 

The race for knowedge may we win, 

Knowledge, dear Lord, of thee. 

0, open all our wondering eyes 
Thy lovely form to see. 

“ It may be that in accents sweet 
Thou mayest call to some. 

With fiute-like whisperings of love, 

‘ My child, come home 1 come homel * 

“ Before Thee now, on bended knees. 

With one uplifted heart. 

We cry with one united voice, 

0 bless us ere we part.” 

Each pupil, as she reached her place, took a kneel- 
ing position, and as the last notes of the music died 
away on the evening air, the Rev. Dr. Parker arose 
to his feet and in a few appropriate and feeling words 
invoked upon the bowed heads before him the bless- 
ing of the Friend and Saviour of the young. Music 
and declamations followed each other with marked 
success, and the glorious June evening, whose every 
zephyr was perfume-laden, drew to a close with a 
general feeling of good-will and satisfaction on all 
sides. Poor Maud’s fears proved groundless, as her 
part was performed most creditably and elicited much 


Light Ahead. 


63 


approbation on the part of the audience. The only 
drawback to her pleasure was the absence of her 
dearest friend, but she had the satisfaction of a duty 
well done, a satisfaction which brings to a sensitive 
mind a sweet sense of peace and joy which no amount 
of forbidden pleasure can ever give. She learned 
also from this experience that a duty, however diffi- 
cult of accomplishment, may be met and mastered if 
a sufficient amount of will and application be brought 
to bear upon it. 

We left Alice as she descended from the carriage 
after their drive, and, with Mrs. Morrison, entered her 
own home. A strange and unwonted silence brooded 
over the house as Alice led the way into the room 
which served as a culinary department and general 
sitting-room. While Mr. Hamilton loved to have 
his family gathered about him, yet there were times 
when, by the nature of his disease, he was rendered so 
excessively nervous that the presence of any one but 
his wife became almost intolerable. Then it was that- 
the loveliness of a true womanly character, refined 
and embellished by the pure graces of Christianity, 
shone forth with untarnished luster. The gentle 
tones, the unwearied efforts to afford relief, the soft 
touch of the cool fingers on the aching head, the 
tender bathing of the fevered brow — all these are of- 
fices which only a loving woman knows how to per- 
form with satisfaction and acceptance to the sufferer. 
And how doubly pleasant and acceptable to the sick 


64 


Light Ahead. 


and prostrate linsband are they when offered by the 
hand of an affectionate Christian wife. 

After inviting Mrs. Morrison to be seated, Alice 
passed on tiptoe into the adjoining room, where her 
quick eye at once detected the signs of suffering 
which were visible in the pallid face — almost as color- 
less as the snowy pillow upon which it reposed. As 
the eye of the invahd caught the slight form and the 
startled expression upon the sweet face, he stretched 
out his attenuated hand, saying : 

“Come here, darling. Papa has been suffering 
very much, but his little White Rose must not be 
frightened. Jesus is with me, Alice dear, and you 
know, he 

“ ‘ can make a dying bed 
Feel soft; as downy pillows are.’ ” 

Burying her face in the bed-clothes, Alice burst 
into a flood of tears ; but as the long, slender fingers 
gently stroked the flowing dark hair, and spoke low, 
soothing words, she became calm, and remembered the 
presence of the visitor in the next room. 

“ O, mamma,” she exclaimed, through her tears, 
“ I forgot to tell you, Mrs. Morrison is in the other 
room.” Then bursting out afresh, she sobbed : “ O, 
papa, papa, you are not going to die and leave your 
little Alice ; tell me you are not I ” 

“ I believe not just now, darling, but in all proba- 
bility, before very long, God will call me away from 
pain and suffering to be with him and the blessed 


Light Ahead. 


65 


Saviour, where I shall never be sick any more. It 
may be dark here, but there is light ahead. It is all 
brightness there. Ask mamma and Mrs. Morrison to 
come in here. She is a good friend, and I may not 
have an opportunity of seeing her many times before 

I go” 

Alice obeyed, and as Mrs. Morrison clasped the 
hand which was burning with fever, and noted the 
calm expression of the placid features — an index 
of the peace which reigned within — the words of 
Balaam occurred to her with double significance, 
“ Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my 
last end be like his ! ” 

“You see,” he said, with a smile full of heavenly 
sweetness, “ I am slowly nearing the river, although 
my feet have not yet reached the brink.” 

“Yes,” replied she, “but the river is not dark and 
turbid.” 

“ O no,” was the eager response. “ It is luminous ; 
each wave glows with the Saviour’s presence. Each 
wave, did I say ? There are no waves, only gentle 
ripples, and such are radiant with heavenly light. 
There is nothing dreadful, my dear friend, in the 
prospect of death to a believer. No darkness, no 
anxiety ; it is all bright and cheery.” 

“ No,” she answered, gently. “ It is only going 
home. But, Mr. Hamilton, I do not apprehend that 
the end is very near.” 

“ No, my physician assures me that I may live 
5 


66 


Light Ahead. 


some weeks, but I begin to have glimpses of the 
heavenly land, and the fragrance of the grapes of 
Eschol is wafted to me across the narrow stream.” 

“It must be a delightful prospect,” replied Mrs. 
Morrison, thoughtfully, as she watched the rapt ex- 
pression of his countenance, already kindling with 
the glory to be revealed. 

“ Glorious ! ” he answered. “ I have but one re- 
gret, and that is leaving my dear ones ; but they are 
in the hands of a God of infinite goodness, who will 
always be a friend of the widow and the fatherless. 
I have no fears. O, Mrs. Morrison, the experience 
of the prophet has been mine also : ‘ Thou wilt keep 
him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.’ ” 

“He is a faithful promiser,” she replied, “and 
you may rest assured that your family will never be 
friendless or unprotected. Both Mr. Morrison and 
myself will always be ready to assist them whenever 
necessity requires, and they may look to us at all 
times for sympathy and companionship.” 

“ Thank you ! ” he answered, with a grateful look 
and a warm pressure of the hand. “ You have both 
proved yourselves good and true friends. I trust that 
the promise, that ‘ He that watereth shall be watered 
also himself,’ will be abundantly verified to you.” 

“By the way,” she said, quickly, turning with a smile 
to Mrs. Hamilton, “ I have discovered an old friend 
of yours who is extremely anxious to see you. She 
was visiting at my house last evening, and was 


Light Ahead. 67 

attracted toward Alice by her close resemblance to 
you.” 

“ Whom can you mean ? ” asked Mrs. Hamilton, in 
a dazed sort of manner. “ I know no one who can 
be very anxious to see me now.” 

It was Mrs. Dunbar. She says that you and she 
were school-mates, and she is all impatience to be 
allowed to visit you.” 

“ O ! ” exclaimed her listener, with moistened eyes, 
“ 1 shall be delighted to see her. Dear Mabel ! She 
was always a warm-hearted, affectionate creature, and 
I believe she will be a real comfort to me.” 

Mr. Hamilton fixed his eyes with an expression 
of intense admiration and affection on the face of 
his wife, as he asked, with a trusting smile, Then 
you have no lurking pride in the matter which will 
mar your pleasure in meeting the dearest friend of 
your happy, prosperous youth ? ” 

Hone,” she answered, promptly. “ Hot the slight- 
est. Mabel has too true and noble a heart to admit 
of such a feeling on either side.” 

“She spoke of that,” said Mrs. Morrison, “and 
restrained her impatience lest she might appear in- 
trusive. She is a widow, with ample means, and re- 
tains all her old girlish affection for you. So, you 
see, God has raised up another friend for you. You 
know he is ‘ ever mindful of his covenant,’ and will 
never forsake those who put their trust in him. 



CHAPTER V. 


ACATION at last ! The last problem has been 



V solved, the last lesson recited, the last task com- 
pleted. Desks have been searched for any remaining 
treasures that may be lurking, in their hidden re- 
cesses ; slates have been cleaned, and books put away 
with a sigh of relief. Already hundreds of miles 
have been traveled, the intervening distance having 
been accomplished on the wings of imagination, and 
all the delights of a two-months’ sojourn in the coun- 
try, in anticipation, enjoyed over and over again. 
The carriage is standing at the door, and Maud and 
Harry can scarcely restrain their impatience to be 
gone. Mrs. Morrison, with her usual thoughtful 
kindness, has prevailed upon Alice’s parents to allow 
her to accompany her own family on their annual 
visit to see her mother, who lives on a farm in one of 
the rich, generous valle^^s of our own Empire State. 
The pale face and thoughtful air of the s^irituelle 
child had awakened her maternal solicitude, and she 
had often expressed to Mr. Morrison her idea that 
Alice was too pure and good for earth. She well 
knew the kind motherly heart which beat beneath 
the plain exterior of Grandma Kodman, and hoped 


Light Ahead. 


69 


that the genial influences which emanated from the 
old lady to all around her, together with the pure, 
exhilarating air and good wholesome food, might 
act as so many tonics. While Mr. Hamilton dreaded 
the parting with his favorite child, whom he might 
never enfold in another close embrace, or upon whose 
face he might never again look with his natural eyes, 
yet his unselfish heart induced him most gladly to 
consent to a separation which might prove to her an 
incalculable benefit. 

Maud was as yet in utter ignorance of the pleasure 
awaiting her in Aliceas company, and as they stood 
together upon the stone steps of her own home, she 
exclaimed, with a sudden bear-like hug, “ O, Alice, 
I am so sorry to leave you ! ” 

Then with a sudden accession of hope, of which 
youth always has a bounteous supply tinging all their 
anticipations with couleuv de rose^ she added : 

“ O, well, it will only be for a few weeks, and then 
we can have just as good times as ever.” 

Alice made no reply, as she was in the secret, 
which was not to be revealed until her presence on the 
boat should tell the tale. As Alice was usually very 
quiet, and often received Maud’s outbursts in silence, 
it created no surprise on this especial occasion. Her 
quiet manner was a part of herself. 

O, me’s a doin in e tountry. Don oo wis oo was a 
doin too, Allie ? ” asked Harry, as he came bounding 
out, his golden curls floating on the soft June breeze. 


70 


Light Ahead. 


“ O ! ” replied Alice, gravely, it must be very nice 
in tbe country.” 

“ Ise doin a fis’in wis papa and a widin ole Bob,” 
said the little fellow, with glowing cheek and spark- 
ling eyes. 

The elders now appearing, they soon found them- 
selves being rapidly driven away. 

“ Why, mamma ! ” exclaimed Maud, with wonder- 
ing eyes, “ if Allie goes down to the boat with us, 
how is she going to get home ? O I suppose J ohn 
can take her back in the carriage,” she added. This 
view of the case satisfying h^ with regard to Alice’s 
safety, she contented herself with giving her a rapt- 
urous embrace. 

“I guess Allie will find her way,” replied Mrs. 
Morrison, smihng. “We’ll see that she doesn’t get 
lost.” 

When, instead of Alice being sent back in the car- 
riage, she saw her going on board with them, she ex- 
claimed, “ O, Allie, you are going with us ! ” And 
the delighted child bounded with a hop, skip, and 
jump through the entire length of the cabin, regard- 
less of the jostling crowd of passengers, who were 
making their way, some of whom were watching 
her antics with looks of most marked disapprobation, 
and others with much amusement. At last the 
stream of passengers has ceased fiowing, the con- 
fusion attending the embarkation of freight and the 
shouting of the hands on deck has stopped. The 


Light Ahead. 


n 


passengers are nearly all disposed of, with the excep- 
tion of a few frisky young girls, who are bent upon 
making themselves conspicuous, and one or two 
fussy old ladies and gentlemen, who cannot decide 
as to the best possible arrangement of the numerous 
boxes, bundles, umbrellas, and canes with which they 
persisted in encumbering themselves. The whistle 
is sending out unearthly sounds, the steam-pipe is 
belching forth its volumes of surplus steam, the 
wheels begin slowly to revolve, and a medley of 
voices succeeds the more boisterous sounds. Hurrah ! 
they are all off, and tjje little ones are so much en- 
gaged in watching the foamy track which the steam- 
er leaves in its wake, and the gleam of the phosphor- 
escent water, that they forget that they are tired, or 
that such a thing as sleep has ever visited their eye- 
lids. Presently the setting sun shed a flood of glory 
over the broad bosom of the river, and th^n slowly 
sank behind the western horizon. Soon, one by one, 
the pale stars shone through the pure ambient air, 
and “Night, sable goddess, drew her silken curtain 
down and pinned it with a star.” 

Upon Alice’s liquid eyes and pale features are still 
visible the traces of recent weeping, caused by the 
parting with her idolized father, and into the eyes 
of the other two the old “ sand- woman ” has been 
dusting the contents of her satchel. Tlie work was 
soon accomplished, and three pairs of eyes were soon 
tightly closed, and three little forms were in the close 


Y2 


Light Ahead. 


embrace of tbe drowsy god. The regular motion of the 
wheels, the plash of the water, even the frequent and 
by no means gentle pulling of the bells, were wholly 
unheeded by the uncoliscious sleepers. With the 
first dawn of the morning light, however, six eyes 
were widely opened, and six little feet were on the 
alert, and, with a childish desire for novelty, all were 
eager to exchange the boat for the cars which would 
convey them to a point within three miles of Grand- 
ma Rodman’s house. 

As they ascended the platform in front of the 
depot, among the motley groups assembled there, 
Maud soon discovered Lou Wentworth, with her 
mother, evidently waiting for the same train which 
was the object of their expectation. Going up to 
her mother, Maud said, in a low tone, 

“ There is Lou. Please, don’t let AUie see her ; 
it will spoil all her pleasure.” 

The next moment, however, Lou came running 
toward her, exclaiming. 

You here, Maud Morrison ! And as I live, if 
there isn’t that girl ! Well, you must like low asso- 
ciates better than I do.” 

Then, without waiting for the indignant reply 
which Maud’s hashing eye and flushed cheek showed 
that she was ready to make, she asked, 

“ Where are you going ? ” 

“ To Grandma Rodman’s, near Oswego,” answered 
Maud, quietly. 


Light Ahead. 


73 


“Well, good-bye.” 

And with an affected little giggle, and a wave of 
the hand, she rejoined her mother. 

“ Who was that you were talking to ? ” asked Mrs. 
Wentworth. 

“ O, Maud Morrison, and that girl she makes such 
a fuss over is with her ! I’m so sorry I saw them ! 
Do you know, Maud says they are going to her 
Grandma Rodman’s, near Oswego, just where we are 
going, and I shall be mortified to death ! The Rod- 
mans are so rich, and have so many men to work on 
their farm ; and then tl^y have carriages and horses 
and every thing nice. Aunt Polly lives in such a 
mean little house, and does all her own work. She 
looks just like some servant. I wish I’d stayed 
home. I shall be all the time meeting her and that 
pale-faced Hamilton girl. They’ll be sure to know 
where I’m staying, and that that coarse-looking wom- 
an is my aunt.” 

“Well, you must try to keep out of their way.” 

“ Keep out of their way ! How am I going to do 
that ? ” asked Lou, sharply. 

“ I almost wish we hadn’t come,” answered her 
mother, thoughtfully ; “ but I haven’t seen my sister 
in such a long time, and she was so anxious to see 
me, I thought, for once, I’d gratify her. This pleas- 
ing other people aint much in my line, and I don’t 
know as it pays.” 

Ho, Mrs. Wentworth, probably it does not pay in 


74 : 


Light Ahead. 


tlie bulky dross of earth’s equivalents, but in the 
pure, unalloyed gold of the bank of heaven the pay- 
ments are made in rich and generous installments. 
The great Cashier never doles out pittances to those 
whose investments he holds, but pays liberally and 
with a princely percentage. He who has said, The 
liberal soul shall be made fat,” acts upon his own 
principles. To those who are munificent in sowing 
broadcast kind deeds, gentle words, and bright smiles, 
which cost the donor nothing, he gives in return an 
abundant harvest of love and kindness. 

Both mother and daughter relapsed into silence for 
a moment, when Mrs. W entworth asked, 

“ Did you tell them where we are going ? ” 

“Ho, indeed,” replied Lou; “I know too much 
for that.” 

Lou answered correctly. She did know too much. 
Having been disciplined in the school of worldly 
wisdom, she bore much fruit, not, we are sorry to 
say, to the glory of God, but to the credit of the 
school in which she received her instruction. 

In a few moments the giant iron monster came 
thundering along, from his immense throat issuing 
short snorts and grunts, as though he were trying to 
divest himself of some encumbrance which was caus- 
ing him disquietude. He drew himself up with a 
majestic sweep around a curve in the road, and then 
took up this mass of freight, which consisted of both 
insentient matter and of scores of living, bounding 


Light Ahead. 


75 


hearts. Gathering fresh force, he started again on 
his headlong course, dashing and crashing along as 
though he were inspired by a power not of earth. 

Lou and her mother had taken care to secure seats 
in a car as far as possible from the one into which 
they saw the Morrisons enter. 

As soon as they were seated out of sight and sound 
of the obnoxious party, Mrs. Wentworth said, in a 
dreamy tone, 

“ It cannot be possible that that girl who was with 
Maud Morrison is the one you say is a pauper. She 
looks hke every thing eke. Why, any one can see 
that she belongs to respectable people. I am not 
sure but I made a mistake in forbidding you to asso- 
ciate with her. She may turn out to be some grand 
lady yet, whose acquaintance we may be very glad to 
cultivate.” 

Prophetic words ! Spoken by the tongue of one 
unskilled in the language of prophecy, whose words 
referred to the place and station desired by the devo- 
tees of this world, bat which were to be fulfilled in 
another and quite an opposite sense. 

“ Hot she,” said this most obedient of daughters in 
reply to the last remark. 

‘‘You told me not to associate with her, and I 
don’t wish to do it. Maud don’t take any notice of 
me, and if she likes a girl who lives in a tenement 
house better than one who lives in a brown stone one, 
let her have her ; I don’t care.” 


76 


Light Ahead. 


Loh made here two assertions in one sentence, 
neither of which was true. Her reference to Alice’s 
residence being in a tenement house would lead her 
listener to associate her with that which is commonly 
known as a house occupied by almost numberless 
families, generally in filth and squalor. This was 
not the case. The Hamilton family were occupants 
of a floor in a house which contained two other 
families, it is true, but they were by no means of the 
class who usually live in tenement houses, properly 
so called. 

Then her boast that she did not care was still more 
untruthful. She had been, from the first, envious of 
Maud’s very evident preference for Alice, and from 
this very feeling sprung her bitter animosity toward 
its innocent cause. This trait, like all others of a 
sinful nature, was generated in the human heart by 
the fall of our first parents, and holds its sway with 
more or less power over every child of Adam. It is 
one which bears in its train an endless throng of 
evils. It poisons the fount of affection. It breeds 
suspicions of our best friends. It makes the heart a 
seething caldron of unholy and unjust thoughts of 
those who may be utterly and entirely innocent of 
any attempt to rob us of the affection of those whom 
we love. It were well for each one of us to use our 
utmost endeavors to rid our hearts of this destroyer 
of our own peace ; this mean, contemptible traducer 
of the aims and motives of others. 


Light Ahead. 


77 


Mrs. Wentworth listened to Lou’s peevish out- 
burst, and then, with her usual weak acquiescence 
with her wishes, replied, 

“Very well, just as you please, only don’t let her 
see you at Aunt Polly’s.” 

“ I don’t see how I’m going to help that,” was the 
amiable reply. “ I can’t shut myseK up in the house 
all the time. Of course she’ll see me.” 

As they were whirled rapidly on, mile after mile, 
Harry’s glistening eyes looked out in silent wonder ; 
then turning to his mother, with a puzzled expression 
on his childish features, he asked, 

“ Ot makes de houses an de tees move so fast ? 
Me tant hardly tee ’em.” 

His mother explained to him that the houses and 
trees were stationary, but that the rapid motion of 
the cars made them appear to be moving. This ex- 
planation, though but partially understood, served to 
quiet the active mind of the child, and he gazed on 
silently until the heavy eyelids closed and the weary 
little head rested upon the sweetest of all resting- 
places — a Christian mother’s loving bosom. 

The second stage of their journey having been 
safely accomplished, when they reached the station at 
Oswego, they found Uncle Ben, with his span of^ 
sleek bay horses and a large open wagon, waiting for 
them. 

Uncle Ben was a hearty, cheery bachelor, of about 
thirty-five, and a splendid specimen of a Hew York 


78 


Light Ahead. 


farmer. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, he 
looked as though he might carry the whole party 
in his arms. His wavy chestnut hair was pushed 
carelessly back from a brow which was unusually 
white for one so much exposed to the action of the 
sun and air, and which showed that brains were not 
wanting in his head. From his laughing blue eyes 
shot out gleams of welcome, while his mouth, sweet 
and gentle as a woman’s, parted with sunny, good- 
humored smiles as he greeted the merry group of 
travelers. 

“ Hallo, little man ! ” he exclaimed, catching Harry 
in his arms and tossing him into the wagon as though 
he had been a feather ; “ they tell me that you are 
Uncle Ben all over again. I prophesy that we shall 
be fast friends. Don’t remember Uncle Ben, do you, 
old fellow ? ” 

‘‘ Ho-o,” shouted the little fellow, raising his great 
eyes to his uncle’s face; “but I ike oo, oos eal 
nice.” 

“Think so, •do you? Ha, ha,” laughed Uncle 
Ben. 

Harry’s long lashes shaded a pair of eyes, the iris 
and pupil of which were almost of one color, the 
deep purplish tint, and apparently the same texture 
of the lovely, velvety pansy. He had a trick of 
raising these marvelous eyes in a manner which was 
irresistibly bewitching. 

Uncle Ben was a victim at once, and instantly 


Light Ahead. 


Y9 


succumbed to the sweet, childish fascinations of his 
little nephew. Turning to Mrs. Morrison, he said, 

“ That fellow will break some hearts one of these 
days with those eyes of his.” 

“ I hope not,” answered his sister, smiling ; “ hearts 
are dangerous things to tamper with.” 

“ Don’t stay broken ; easily mended,” he replied, 
laconically. 

“ By the way, Ben, where is the future mistress of 
Hodman’s Farm?” asked Mr. Morrison, with a mis- 
chievous twinkle in his eye. 

“ Don’t know, Ned ; haven’t found her yet. Think 
she must be in cloud-land — a myth, you know ; one 
of those airy creatures that always escape our grasp.” 

“ I don’t believe that, Ben. Shouldn’t wonder if, 
at this very moment, somewhere in the region of the 
heart, is a warm spot for some rosy-cheeked, cherry- 
lipped damsel. I must ask mother about it. She’ll 
tell us, if you will not.” 

“ Do you think I would not tell my sister, the dear- 
est sister in all the world? ” asked Uncle Ben, with an 
affectionate look at Mrs. Morrison. 

“ Not a doubt of it, Ben, not a doubt of it. Do not 
think I could ever call in questioAyour affection for 
Annie. I only thought you might be bashful about ^ 
it,” answered Mr. Morrison, with a merry laugh. 

‘‘ Don’t be troubled about me on that score. Bash- 
fulness is a commodity I never was very much troubled 
with,” was the smiling reply. 


80 


Light Ahead. 


“ Mother is well, you said, Ben ? ” asked Mrs. Mor- 
rison, with kindling eye. 

“Yes,” he replied, “very well, and time deals very 
gently with her ; but I sometimes see, or think I see, 
that old age with all its infirmities is slowly creeping 
upon her. She is the same dear, good mother, and 
I sometimes look at her with eyes blinded by tears 
when I remember that the time is coming when I 
must part with her.” 

“ Surely, Ben,” said Mrs. Morrison, with some anxi- 
ety, “you do not see any evidence of ill health or 
decay ! ” 

“ No,” he answered, cheerily, “ O no, and I ought 
not to have saddened you with such thoughts. I don’t 
know how I came to get upon such a strain. She is 
well and as happy as ever ; but, you know, a bachelor 
like me has not much else to think about, and I be- 
lieve my mother is my idol.” 

“ Seriously, Ben,” said Mr. Morrison, “ I think you 
ought to marry and create new ties for yourself. Be- 
sides, your wife would be company for mother, and 
might assist her in many ways ; and the presence of a 
bright, cheery young woman about the house would 
rejuvenate you both.” 

“ No, no, Ned ; my mother and I are too dear to 
each other to admit of any other ties. We are suf- 
ficient for each other.” 

Ben spoke truly. It was no lukewarm affection 
which existed between the young man in the strength 


Light Ahead. 


81 


and vigor of his manhood and the mother in the 
beauty and mellowness of life’s autumn days. “ He 
was the only son of his mother, and she was a 
widow.” This simple and beautiful expression of the 
Holy Scripture gave the key-note to the metre whose 
rhythm flowed so harmoniously through all their lives. 
Since his father’s death, which occurred when Ben 
was in his sixteenth year, he had been her consolation 
and her joy. 

Alice had been dreading her first encounter with 
so many people, but Uncle Ben completely won her 
confidence by his genial, cordial manner, and before 
they reached the farm-house her timidity was consid- 
erably relieved ; her first favorable impressions of 
him were much increased as she listened to his affec- 
tionate words of his mother, and she began to think 
that Mrs. Morrison’s brother might possibly be nearly 
as nice as she was. 

They were soon all bundled into the wagon, and 
the fat, shining horses were peacefully ambling along 
the smooth road. Already the sun was casting long, 
slant shadows, and the peculiar sunset glow was rest- 
ing upon the face of nature, giving the foliage a richer 
tint and bringing out the graceful, lordly trees against 
their azure and golden background. Overhead masses 
of white, fleecy clouds — those lovely clouds which 
only June skies ever show — were scudding along, 
now becoming mingled with a most exquisite dove 

color, while far away toward the western horizon the 
6 


82 


Light Ahead. 


sky was aflame with glory. Huge piles of purplish 
clouds lay banked up against the blazing sky, while 
amber, crimson, and gold followed each other in swift 
succession. 

Alice had been watching this glowing picture in 
silence with dilated eyes and bated breath. She gazed 
with a far-away look in the wistful eyes, as though she 
were looking through and beyond this earthly glory 
into the beauty and radiance of the heavenly land. 

The vision was dispelled when Uncle Ben, turning 
to her, said, 

“ Isn’t that a picture for an artist ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, timidly; “but I don’t think 
any artist could ever paint that.” 

Alice did not say so, but she was thinking of her 
father’s words, “ There is light ahead,” and she was 
wondering, in her childish mind, whether the light 
was beyond that glowing sunset. A huge ball of fire 
was all that the dazzled eye could now see, and as 
Uncle Ben drew his horses up before Rodman’s farm- 
house it dropped behind the western hills. 




M ES. DUNBAK, at thirty, found herself a child- 
less widow. Possessed, as we have seen, of an 
ample fortune, with no necessity for exertion or fore- 
thought, she lived that aimless, purposeless sort of life 
which is always so unsatisfactory to the human heart. 
We are all so constituted, by our divine Creator, that 
we crave some object of affection, some being upon 
whom we may bestow our love and care, and from 
whom, in return, we have a right to expect some 
response, a mutual interchange of loving and thought- 
ful interest. No one can live for himself alone. Let 
him but try the experiment, and straightway he be- 
comes the most miserable of mortals. Life is worth 
nothing to its possessor without something to live for, 
some purpose to be attained, something which will 
call forth the exercise of self-denial, which, if in a 
worthy cause, is one of the noblest traits with which 
God has endowed humanity. The acts by which we 
sacrifice our own personal comfort or pleasure, ay, 
even those in which we jeopardize our own worldly 
benefit for the good of others, enlarge the heart, and 
open a perennial fountain of joy and peace. 

Accustomed from her earliest childhood to all those 
luxuries with which wealth and refinement surround 


84 


Light Ahead. 


themselves, Mrs. Dunbar had but slight appreciation 
of the struggles and privations which poverty entails 
upon its victims. The only child of fashionable, 
worldly parents, she had been educated only for this 
world. To shine in society, to amuse the passing 
hours, to crowd so much so-called enjoyment into 
the smallest possible space of time ; and, lastly, but 
by no means least in her calculations, to make a brill- 
iant marriage, constituted, she had been taught, the 
sole aim and object of a woman’s life. What a sad, 
fatal mistake ! ]N’o thought of eternity ; no acknowl- 
edgment of the claims of a crucified Saviour ; no hope 
of a glorious future ; but the living butterfiy-existence, 
culling the sweetness out of life, with no preparation 
for the day when sorrow and trial will come, as come 
they must, to every son and daughter of our fallen race. 

Her pathway had been not through the narrow, 
thorny walks of want and penury, but through the 
perfumed garden bowers of ease and luxury. She 
has known and loved Isabel Warner in their school- 
girl days ; but marriage, as it so often does, had sepa- 
rated the friends, and they had lost all trace of each 
other until, as we have seen, they were so strangely 
reunited. 

Spending a summer at Saratoga, Mabel Winthrop 
met Mr. Dunbar, then a wealthy widower twice her 
age. With the strange perversity of taste which young 
girls so often manifest while in the spring-time of 
life, she linked her fate with one who was nearing its 


Light Ahead. 


85 


drear and bleak wintry day. A trip to Europe and a 
continental tour followed, and, after a few years of 
married life, her husband suddenly died and left her 
heiress to his immense wealth. Like all her sisters 
and brothers of the human race, a restless longing 
possessed her for something still unattained. Like the 
Athenians, who erected an altar ‘Ho the Unknown 
God,” her unsatisfied spirit was constantly wishing 
for something which as constantly eluded her grasp. 
She had never drank of that fountain whereof, if a 
man drink, he shall never thirst again. She had 
never eaten of the Bread of Life, which feeds and 
nourishes the immortal soul, and, therefore, she was 
hungry and thirsty, in utter ignorance of that which 
alone can satisfy and bless and save. 

She hastened to meet her friend, Mrs. Hamilton, 
and as she learned the wonderful changes through 
which she had passed, and read the calm peace and 
trust which sat enthroned upon her pure, intellectual 
brow, she could not fail to discover what power it 
was which could produce such a cheerful hope in the 
midst of adversity arid sorrow. Although so inti- 
mately associated as they had been in their early days, 
she had always been unable to fathom the spiritual 
depths of Isabel Warner’s character. 

How the association was renewed, and she saw Isa- 
bel Hamilton stripped of all the appliances to worldly 
comfort and pleasure to which she had been accus- 
tomed, surrounded by evidences of poverty and desti- 


86 


Light Ahead. 


tution, witli a husband, who, next to her God, occupied 
the largest and tenderest place in her affections, draw- 
ing near to the gates of the grave, and yet manifesting 
a sweet, trusting spirit, which recognized a Father’s 
hand, and enabled her to say, with an exalted faith. 

Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” 

It was a lovely morning, about a week after Alice’s 
departure, that Mrs. Dunbar, quite unexpectedly, 
made her appearance at Mrs. Hamilton’s, her face 
wreathed with smiles, the exponent of a heart more 
at rest than it had been for a long, long time. Isabel 
and her family presented to her view a new phase of 
life, one of genteel, even aristocratic, poverty. Her 
knowledge of its dark side, as has been shown, was 
extremely limited. Her sole acquaintance with the 
class who are most familiar with it was drawn from 
the miserable, squalid, pinched-looking beggars whom 
she had seen at her own door, or whom she had en- 
countered abroad. 

If she had troubled her brain to think at all, prob- 
ably she would have arrived at the same conclusion 
with which so many strive to ease their consciences. 

O well,” they think, “ after all, these people do not 
feel as we would if placed in such circumstances. 
They have never been accustomed to any thing bet- 
ter. They are totally unacquainted with the refine- 
ments of life, and probably would not know how to 
.make use of them if they were placed within their 
jeach. No doubt they are very well content in their 


Light Ahead. 


87 


own sphere of life so long as they are not actually 
suffering.” This may be true of the large majority of 
cases, but is by no means universally so. 

One of Mrs. Dunbar’s generous impulses had 
seized her this morning, and the bright thought 
flashed across her mind that she had within her 
power the means of placing within reach of her 
friend many comforts and delicacies of which she 
was now deprived. She thought over this matter 
longer and more earnestly than was her habit to 
think upon any subject more serious than the style 
of a new dress or bonnet. The result of her cogita- 
tions may be summed up in a few words. She was 
alone, with no one to share, or with w’hoiri she felt 
disposed to share, the good things which had fallen 
so liberally to her lot. It was with these feelings 
still fresh and glowing that she greeted Mrs. Hamil- 
ton with an affectionate kiss, saying, playfully, 

“Come, Isabel, I have my carriage at the door. 
Put on your bonnet and come out for an airing. It 
is a charming morning, and the fresh breezes will put 
a little color into these pale cheeks.” 

“ Thank you,” she replied ; “ you are very kind to 
think of me, but I cannot leave my sick husband, 
who requires all my care.” 

“ Cannot Mabel stay with him for an hour ? ” 
asked Mrs. Dunbar, with a slight shade of disap- 
pointment in her tone. 

“ Y es, she can,” was the quiet reply, “ but he shall 


88 


Light Ahead. 


never miss m j presence while he can recognize and 
be comforted bj it.” 

While the denial of self was not one of the most 
conspicuous points in Mrs. Dunbar’s character, yet 
its manifestation in one whom she already considered 
as but little lower than the angels, added fresh luster 
and brilliancy to that which her eyes, blinded by the 
“ god of this world,” was too dim to see clearly. 

“ How is Mr. Hamilton ? ” she asked, kindly. 

“Much the same; but I feel that he cannot be 
with us long, and I am resolved that no hand but 
mine shall minister to his necessities while there is 
the faintest pulsation in that heart which has always 
beat so warmly for me. He has been a kind and 
faithful husband, and I can never do too much for 
him.” 

Mrs. Dunbar had been regarding her with a fixed 
look of wonder and perplexity in her eyes, then, with 
a faint sigh, she said, 

“Well, Isabel, to tell you the truth, this intense 
love, this unselfish devotion to your husband is some- 
thing which has never entered into my experience. 
I begin to think I must have led a sadly selfish, use- 
less life. You know I was young when I married, 
and my husband was much older than I.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, “ the old story of 
May and December trying in vain to assimilate. I 
believe it to be just as impossible for the old and the 
young to become congenial companions for a life- 


Light Ahead. 


89 


time as for the balmy breezes of a May morning to 
meet and mingle with the nipping frosts of a Decem- 
ber night.’’ 

“ You are right,” was the thoughtful reply, but I 
was dazzled by his wealth, and by the foolish notion 
of being an old man’s darling. I was not as happy 
a wife as you have been ; it may have been partly my 
own fault. I know I was not to him what you are 
to Mr. Hamilton. I was gay and giddy, and, I am 
afraid, did not try to suit his tastes.” 

“ Such a tale is too common to admit of any doubt 
of the truth of your statement, even were I disposed 
to believe that you blame yourself too severely.” 

“ Yes, and I have not the pleasant memories that 
you will have.” 

Mrs. Hamilton was silent a moment, and then an- 
swered, * 

“ Probably not. My husband will leave to me and 
to his children a precious inheritance in his Christian 
life and his many acts of love and kindness. His 
memory will be fragrant through all our lives.” 

The conversation was here interrupted by the en- 
trance of Dr. Parker, when Mrs. Dunbar took her 
leave. A bright smile of welcome lit up the face 
of the invalid as his friend and pastor entered the 
room. 

“ Good-moming, my brother,” said the latter, with 
a warm shake of the hand ; “ is the lookout pleasant 
this morning ? ” 


90 


Light Ahead. 


“ Yes,” replied Mr. Hamilton, “ there is a bright, 
fair prospect.” 

“ My dear friend,” said the minister, “ you are to 
be envied. A situation like yours is certainly more 
desirable than that of a man in the heyday of earthly 
honors and emoluments.” 

“ Yes, I would not exchange places with the might- 
iest monarch on his throue. The glory of his king- 
dom must pass away, but the one I am to inherit will 
last forever.” 

“ It is a grand and glorious thing,” was the reply, 
“ to be an heir of God and a joint heir with J esus 
Christ to an inheritance whicli is incorruptible, unde- 
filed, and that fadeth not away.” 

“ Yes, it is glorious ; and one of its crowning glo- 
ries is that it is within reach of all, even the poor- 
est, and that the terms upon which it is offered may 
be accepted by all.” 

“Yes, and when we remember that these terms are 
so exceedingly simple — only to believe and obey — is 
it not strange that such multitudes refuse to accept 
them ? ” 

“ Passing strange,” answered Mr. Hamilton ; “ but, 
you know, the prince of the power of the air is con- 
stantly on the alert, poisoning the moral atmosphere, 
and bringing strong counteracting influences ; and, 
you know, even better than I, the weakness and 
worldliness of the human heart.” 

“ Yes,” replied Dr. Parker, “ I have constant and 


Light Ahead. 


91 


most sad experiences of them. The voice of Jesus 
calls in vain. His soft, sweet tones are lost amid the 
din and clatter of worldly occupations and amuse- 
ments.” 

“ Still,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “ it has always seemed 
a mystery to me that the claims of the Gospel remain 
so long unheeded even by many who are scrupulously 
attentive to its outward observances.” 

“ It is a mystery, my dear lady, until we remem- 
ber that this is the stronghold behind which they in- 
trench themselves. They have the form of godliness, 
but deny its power.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I have heard that argument 
used. They say they obey all God’s requirements, 
and that is all that is necessary. Therefore they 
have no need of the Saviour. So, of course, for them 
Christ died in vain.” 

“ Exactly so,” answered Dr. Parker. “ They for- 
get or ignore the groundwork of our religion, the 
faith by which alone we are saved. And many wrest 
the word of God to their destruction. Misunder- 
standing, either willfully or blindly, the words of St. 
James, when he says that ‘faith without works is 
dead,’ they believe, or try to believe, that the good 
works upon -which they so much plume themselves 
will be a sufficient passport to the favor of God, and 
finally to a place in those mansions which Jesus has 
gone to prepare for those who love him.” 

“ This is one of the delusions of the Evil One, I 


92 


Light Ahead. 


suppose,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “ How fruitful lie is 
in resources to ruin the souls of men.” 

“ Yes,” was the reply of this faithful worker for 
God. “ And it is frightful to think how the number 
of those who hold such views is increasing. Yet we 
have great cause for rejoicing that the Gospel proves 
in such multitudes of cases a ‘savor of life unto 
life,’ and that its strength-giving power permeates so 
many hearts.” 

“ I have been thinking,” said Mr. Hamilton, “ since 
I have been lying here so helpless, how strange it is 
that Christians are not more zealous in working for 
God. My wife has been reading to me some extracts 
from the life and labors of Whitefield, the great evan- 
gelist, and when I compare such a life of ceaseless ac- 
tivity for the glory of God, even when sufPering 
from physical disability, with my own past life of in- 
dolent ease, I feel what an unfaithful servant I have 
been.” 

“ I fear we may all feel that,” was the reply, given 
in a thoughtful tone. “ Few men have ever accom- 
plished as much for Christ and for the souls of men 
as he. His crown must be sparkling with many jew- 
els, the seals of his ministry.” 

“ It seems to me,” rejoined the invalid, with moist- 
ened eyes, “ that if 1 were in health again I would 
give myself up to the work of an evangelist, and im- 
plore all who came within my reach, in Christ’s stead, 
and for his sake, to be reconciled to God. How it is 


Light Ahead. 


93 


too late,” he added, somewhat mournfully. “ My time 
for usefulness is past.” 

“ Not so, my brother,” answered his pastor ; “ that 
is where you mistake. You are preaching volumes 
of sermons. The servant of God may honor his Mas- 
ter as much by waiting and watching, by patient en- 
durance of pain and suffering, as by more active serv- 
ice. Indeed, I think his service is the more difficult 
of the two, and, therefore, I believe his reward will 
he proportionate. You, my dear brother, recommend 
the religion of Jesus quite as much by your cheerful 
patience under your prolonged and painful ailment, 
as you would if, in stentorian tones, you could pro- 
claim his unsearchable riches. There is many a man 
who could endure herculean labors for God, who 
would chafe and fret under his afflictive hand.” 

“ I thank you for your kind atod cheering words, 
my dear friend ; but even in the dim twilight of eter- 
nity, before its glorious day-dawn breaks upon us, 
our views of things differ materially from those 
which we hold in the darkness of this world. Things 
which, when in the full vigor of health and strength, 
enveloped in the gross folds of earthly pleasure or 
profit, seemed to me of comparatively small impor- 
tance, have now enlarged their proportions and stand 
out with a distinctness which I would once have 
deemed impossible.” 

“Yes,” was the thoughtful reply. “ The near pros- 
pect of death and eternity is a powerful magnifier. 


94 


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Its strong lenses are brought to bear upon the soul 
with tremendous force. How blessed are those who 
at such a time feel the positive assurance of hearing 
the Saviour’s welcome plaudit : ‘Well done, good 
and faithful servant ! ’ ” 

“ The silence of night gives one ample opportunity 
for retrospective thought,” was the smiling answer. 

“ Are your nights restful ? ” asked the clergyman, 
gently. 

“Eestful in one sense. My bodily pain necessi- 
tates a frequent change of posture, but my mind is 
sweetly restful. Do not imagine,” he added, bright- 
ening up, “ that any remembrance of my past negli- 
gence ever brings a cloud between my Saviour and 
• my own soul. O, no ; he has assured me of his en- 
tire forgiveness, and I joyfully rest upon his precious 
promises.” 

With a hearty assurance of a frequent repetition of 
his visit the minister took leave. As he pursued his 
walk his mind became engrossed in the contempla- 
tion of the source of his friend’s unruffled composure 
and blissful anticipation of a future which, in all 
human probability, would soon become merged in a 
present of unspeakable joy. 

He became so absorbed in thought that his feelings 
found audible expression, even in the crowded mart 
through which his course lay. 

“ Happy man !” he exclaimed. “He has reached 
the summit of a glorious Hebo, from whence, like 


Light Ahead. 


95 


Moses, he can view the promised land, happily with- 
out, like him, being debarred an entrance upon and 
enjoyment of its entrancing loveliness. He 

“ ‘ Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 

While resignation gently slopes the way, — 

And all his prospects brightening to the last. 

His heaven commences ere the world be past.’ ” 

Pursuing this train of thought, he walked rapidly 
on, utterly unconscious of the flight of time or of the 
distance which he had traveled, until he found him- 
self in a lonely locality almost on the outskirts of the 
city. Arousing himself to the strangeness of his sur- 
roundings, he became aware that night was fast clos- 
ing in. The blue dome above his head was clear and 
clou dless, and already glittering with the moon’s silver 
crescent and its attendant train. The roar of the city 
had changed to an indistinct hum, while turmoil and 
confusion seemed to him almost like things of a past 
age. Already the city lamps were lighted, and as he 
retraced his steps he awoke to the consciousness of 
the complete absorption which had held him en- 
thralled for so long. 

Walking rapidly cityward for a few blocks, he 
soon came within hailing distance of an omnibus, and 
taking a seat therein, was soon in the midst of the 
busy throngs. The glow of the gas-lights and the 
hurrying crowds soon brought him back to the realiza- 
tion of the fact that he was still an inhabitant of this 
sublunary sphere. The gay groups that were, with 
such eager faces, crowding the several places of 


96 


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amusement, seemed to him of more importance tlian 
ever before, as he pictured to himself the possible 
future of each, and resolved to be more faithful than 
ever in the work of the ministry. 

On reaching home he found his wife waiting with 
a smiling welcome. Linking her arm in his, and 
drawing him into the library, with an air of mystery 
and a pleasant little flutter of excitement in her man- 
ner, she asked : “ My dear, where have you been so 
long? We have been waiting dinner for you this 
long time.” 

Then drawing his head down to a level with her 
mouth, she whispered : 

“ There is a couple in the parlor waiting for you 
to marry them.” 

Is that so ? ” he said, wearily. “ I’m rather sorry 
for it.” 

“ Sorry ! ” she exclaimed, gleefully, “ I’m not sorry, 
because you know I always have the fees, and I want 
ever so much money to-morrow.” 

“ Not a doubt of it,” was the reply, with a quiet 
smile, “ but I suppose I must make myself presenta- 
ble to metamorphose those two eagerly expectant in- 
dividuals into one. By the way, do you know who 
they are ? ” 

“ Not I,” she chirruped out in her bird-like tone ; 
“ I never saw them before. Thomas ushered them 
into the parlor, and as the parson was out, I, as in 
duty bound, you know, my dear, as the parson’s 


Light Ahead. 97 

wife, went in to offer an apology for his absence, and 
invite them to remain until he came in.” 

“ I7o thought of the fee, of course, eh, Susie ? ” 

“I^ot a thought,” she answered, with a mischiev- 
ous smile. “All pure duty to my husband and his 
guests ; not a speck of woman’s curiosity either,” she 
added, quickly. 

“Well, I’m ready,” he said, absently; “but you 
and Millie, and one of the servants, must be present 
as witnesses. But, Susie,” he said, detaining her as 
she was leaving the room to summon her co- witnesses, 
“ If I were you I wouldn’t be too sure about the fee. 
They may not answer my questions satisfactorily.” 

She made a rueful face, but instantly noted his 
grave look. 

“O,” asked she, breathlessly, “ aren’t you going to 
have your dinner first ? ” 

“No, indeed,” he answered. “Do you think I 
would keep two young hearts uneasily palpitating one 
moment longer than is necessary ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” was the reply, with an arch glance up into 
the thoughtful face,” you have not forgotten your 
own youthful folly, have you, dear ? ” 

“No folly at all,” he answered, smiling gravely, 
“ but sound, sterling sense, as my subsequent happy 
experience has most abundantly proved. But come, 
dear, we are keeping these strangers waiting.” 

With a grateful glance and a suspicious look of 

humidity about the merry eyes, she was about to 
7 


98 


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reply, when her sister and the neat servant, whose 
presence was required, entered the room. 

Mrs. Parker watched her husband narrowly, as he 
offered to the strangers a courteous greeting and an 
apology for the unavoidable detention. With the in- 
nate tact and the good breeding which characterized 
Dr. Parker, he had so adroitly and skillfully con- 
cealed his surprise that not a trace of it was visible, 
either in his unruffled countenance, or in the dignified 
suavity of his manner. Surprised he was, for instead 
of meeting, as he expected, a youthful couple all 
bathed in blushes and tremulous with the sweet con- 
fusion which usually accompanies a bride and groom 
to the hymeneal altar, his gaze now rested upon a 
man whose appearance gave unmistakable evidence 
that he had reached the zenith of life’s fair day, but 
that old Father Time had dealt gently with him. His 
rotund proportions and rubicund visage bore witness 
to unbroken health. Through the thick clustering 
locks were traceable occasional threads of silver, which 
lent an added dignity to his really fine and prepos- 
sessing countenance, while his genial smile revealed a 
fine set of natural teeth, making altogether a not un- 
pleasing picture of manhood’s prime. 

By his side sat a woman who must have been his 
senior by at least fifteen years. A wiry, nervous- 
looking figure, whose keen, restless black eyes took a 
rapid inventory of every object which came within 
her range of vision. The shrunken cheeks and the 


Light Ahead. 


09 


shriveled, sallow skin presented a marked contrast to 
the ruddy glow which flushed both cheeks and brow 
of her portly companion. The thin, crisp gray hair 
was clustered into the short spiral curls of a quarter 
of a century ago. The forehead was indented with 
deep lines, while about the set lips was a hard, stern 
look, and the whole physiognomy was a settled ex- 
pression of discontent, as though life were not at all 
to her liking, and she and it had been waging a hard 
battle, in which who would be victor still remained 
a doubtful point. 

Her dress, of some silky looking gray material, was 
made after the fashion of a by-gone time, while a 
bonnet of huge proportions, but similar in color and 
texture, surmounted the diminutive form. A quantity 
of rich jewelry of rare workmanship, but of antique 
design, reminding one of a walking advertisement of 
some ambitious dealer in trinkets and bijouterie, 
adorned her person. A sort of elflsh motion of the 
corners of the thin lips and scanty eyebrows, together 
with the quick interlacing of the bony fingers, all 
proclaimed the tension of the tissue of nerves which 
seem to constitute the entire organization. 

After the necessary formula, this anomalous couple 
took their places and, in the presence of the witnesses 
there assembled, entered into the marriage covenant, 
sealing before the Most High the solemn vows which 
he alone could enable them to perform. 

notwithstanding the grotesque appearance of the 


100 


Light Ahead. 


mature bride, wbicb at any other time would have 
provoked his ever-ready risibles, Dr. Parker’s heart 
was so deeply imbued with the impressions which he 
had that day received, that from his manner of ren- 
dering it, the service seemed to have acquired a new 
solemnity, and his concluding prayer was couched in 
such melting language that no thought of burlesque 
or frivolity found lodgment in the heart of either of 
those who, with bowed heads, listened, in silent awe, 
to his beseeching tones. After dismissing the newly 
made husband and wife, with a fervent benediction, 
he turned to his wife, saying, with a smile, “ Here, 
Susie, here is your fee; after all, I hope you will 
enjoy spending it, dear.” 

"With a triumphant exclamation she opened the 
tiny roll which her husband had placed in her hand, 
and with a look of most comic distress upon her rosy 
face, she displayed a one dollar bill. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” she laughed ; “ no shopkeeper shall 
contaminate that with his avaricious fingers. I will 
preserve it as a pleasant reminder of an act of unpar- 
alleled generosity.” 

Passing her hand fondly over his brow, she said, 
sweetly, “ What makes you so sober to-night, dear ; 
are you ill ?” 

“Hot sober,” he replied, returning the caress, 
“ only thoughtful. Ho, dearest, I am not at all ill ; 
but, Susie, I have received an impression to-day 
which I think and trust I shall never lose. I have 


Light Ahead. 


101 


been conversing with a saint, who is just on the 
verge of the land of Beulah. His face, it seems to 
me, is radiant with the light from the throne of God. 
His lamp is trimmed and burning, and he only waits 
for the Bridegroom’s voice, to follow him in to the 
marriage supper of the Lamb.” 


6 



CHAPTER VIL 

A LICE, come down here, fairy ! ” 
lx. Uncle Ben’s cheery tones aroused the thought- 
ful child, as she stood by a low window, lost in ad- 
miration of the scene which lay before her. Acre 
after acre of well-cultivated farm land presented a 
picture of smiling summer beauty, while but a few 
miles distant the calm waters of the blue Ontario 
stretched in her childish imagination to an almost 
limitless extent. 

‘‘ Uncle Ben, did you call me ? ” she asked, and, 
turning, she met his laughing blue eyes fixed upon 
her with a teasing expression. 

“Where were you, princess? Wandering away 
to your subjects in fairy land ? ” 

“Why, I was here all the time. I haven’t been 
V away from here since breakfast,” she answered, in- 
nocently, fixing her great wondering eyes upon his 
face. 

“ Seems to me you are very matter-of-fact for a 
fairy princess, or else you are trying to deny your 
relationship.” 

“ Deny my relationship ! I don’t know what you 
mean. Uncle Ben,” she replied, in a puzzled tone. 


Light Ahead. 


103 


Notwithstanding the good fellowship which existed 
between Uncle Ben and Alice, she was sometimes a 
little uncertain of his meaning, when, as was the 
case this morning, he happened to be in one of his 
teasing moods. 

“Why,” he said, laughing, “you are trying to 
make me believe that you are not a fairy, and I do 
not believe that any thing so ethereal can belong to 
this earth. Do you know, I half expect to see you 
vanish out of my sight, even while I am talking to 
you!” 

“ What are you talking about, Ben ? ” asked his 
mother, approaching the spot where they stood. 
“ Who is going to vanish ? Not Allie, surely ? ” 

“ I don’t know, mother, doesn’t she look as though 
a pair of wings would suit her?” he asked, stroking 
her long hair with a caressing gesture. “ See these 
pale cheeks and this airy little figure. Are they not 
suited to angelhood ? ” ^ 

“Not a bit of it,” replied the old lady, cheerily. 
“ These pale cheeks are going to get bronzed and 
sunburned, and this little figure is going to gain 
more flesh and muscle. Why, Ben, we shall send 
her home as brown as a berry and as plump as 
Maudie.” 

“ All right ! But,” he continued, abruptly chang- 
ing his tone, “come, Allie, I’m going to Oswego 
this morning. Don’t you and the other youngsters 
want to go along for a ride ? ” 


104 


Light Ahead. 


“ Go where ? ” asked Maud, as she came bounding 
in. “ Of course we want to go.” 

“Of course you do, dumpling; you’re always 
ready for any thing that promises fun,” answered 
Uncle Ben, with an amused look. “Isn’t that so, 
Maudie ? ” 

“I s’pose so,” she answered. “I guess you like 
fun pretty well, too. Uncle Ben.” 

Uncle Ben’s countenance assumed a serious expres- 
sion, and, turning toward the quiet little figure en- 
sconced in one corner of the broad window-seat, he 
asked, “ What were you thinking of, Allie, when I 
called you ? You seemed to be lost in thought.” 

She hesitated a moment, and then answered, shyly, 
while a burning blush overspread neck and face, 
mounting even to the roots of her hair, 

“ I was thinking whether heaven is any thing like 
this. V O, Uncle Ben, I never saw any thing so 
lovely ! Do you think heaven can be any more 
beautiful than this ? ” 

“ Why, yes, Allie,” he replied, wondering at the 
direction in which the child’s thoughts generally 
drifted, “I kinder think heaven must be a mighty 
sight finer than this place.” 

To a child of Alice’s very unchild-like appreciation 
of scenic beauty, accustomed only to the high brick 
walls and paved streets of a city, the wide expanse 
of open country, the sense of freedom, and the sweet 
freshness of the dewy morning, were a new delight 


Light Ahead. 


105 


to her, and although she could not analyze the feel- 
ing, there was a sense of God’s nearness in the im- 
mediate presence of his handiwork, which made her 
feel that heaven must be in some sense like this 
place, this being to her the acme of earthly loveliness. 
While these things only appealed to Maud’s more 
frivolous and sensuous nature as so many sources of 
pleasure, to Alice they seemed to be so many proofs 
of God’s power and goodness. Her esthetic taste 
was gratified by the charming views which in all 
her drives opened before her, as well as by the har- 
monious blending of colors in the rich foliage, and, 
above all, by the matchless sunsets which charmed 
while they saddened her. 

notwithstanding her instinctive dread of encoun- 
tering strangers, she had fallen, in the short space of 
one week, quite naturally into her niche in the 
household. She had received a cordial and affec- 
tionate welcome, and seemed to have crept right into 
the warmest corner of each of the warm hearts be- 
neath that hospitable roof. Grandma Rodman had 
at once manifested her broad, all-enfolding sympa- 
thy, and taken in the fragile little being whom she 
immediately dubbed Snow-drop, so forcibly was she 
reminded of the frail and delicate beauty of the early 
spring fiower, so soon passing away to be followed 
by its more ruddy and blooming sisterhood. Sur- 
rounded by a genial atmosphere of love and cheer- 
ful kindness, she seemed to expand, as though in 


106 


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grateful affection toward these new-formed friends. 
Indeed, she seemed almost as much at home as Maud 
herself. “Grandma” and “Uncle Ben” fell quite 
naturally from her lips, while she was fast becoming 
familiarized with Aunt Mary and Uncle Fred, of 
whom she found Maud’s description to be time, for 
Aunt Mary, Mrs. Morrison’s only sister, was sweet 
and gentle, and Uncle Fred was jolly and generous. 

Just at this stage of the conversation the horses 
were brought up to the front door, their coats sleek 
and shining, driven by old Zeke, one of the farm 
hands. 

“ Thar, Mister Ben,” he said, with a bow, “ thar’s 
yer bosses, sir, as fine and well groomed a span as 
yer’ll find in the hull o’ this ere Empire State. 
They aint none o’ yer plebian bosses, them aint. 
Tliem’s the reg’lar aristocracy. High-blooded crit- 
ters, them is.” 

“ That’s so, Zeke,” said Uncle Ben, with a sly wink 
at Mrs. Morrison as she stood in the door, smiling ; 
“ that’s so and no mistake.” 

“ Did I ever tell yer. Mister Ben, ’bout them thare 
bosses wot I used ter take care on over to Borne. 
Lord bless yer,” he continued, without waiting for a 
reply, “ the master over there, he used ter think they 
was wonderful critters; but bless yer, they want 
nothin’ to these. Why, bless yer heart, I talk ter 
these critters, hold reg’lar conversations with ’em, 
jist ’s if they was human natur. They know jist 


Light Ahead. 107 

what I’m a-sayin’ to ’em, an’ they nod, an’ they larf, 
an’ I ’spect every day they’ll talk.” 

Nothing pleased Uncle Ben more than to get Zeke 
on one of his strains of “ Uowin\^^ as he called it, 
and now, as he watched the expression of mingled 
wonder and amazement in Alice’s eyes, he deter- 
mined to draw him out.” 

“What about those horses? Tell us, Zeke,” he 
said, with an amused smile. 

“Wal,” answered Zeke, well pleased to have an 
appreciative audience, “ them bosses was well ’nough, 
but they didn’t never look like these. Now these 
is a beautiful, rich chisnut, but them was a kinder 
yaller like, an’ yer might use the curry-comb till yer 
was tired, an’ rub an’ rub till yer was fit to drop, an’ 
it didn’t seem ter do no good; thar wa’n’t never no 
shine on ter ’em. Wall, one day, the missis, she 
wanted ter go to see some grand, hifalutin’ kind o’ 
people, an’ she said, in her kind o’ coaxin’ way, 
‘Now, Zeke, git the bosses up reel styhsh, wont 
yer ? ’ I’ll do it, ses I, ef it takes all the skin off o’ 
my hands. Wall, the master, he cum eout to the 
barn, an’ he ses, ses he, ‘ Zeke, we like to please the 
missis. Git every thing up spick an’ span, wont you ? ’ 

‘ All right,’ ses I ; ‘ I’ll hev ’em a-shinin like glass.’ 
So yu’d better b’lieve I went ter work with a will, 
an’ I cleaned an’ cleaned, an’ rubbed an’ rubbed, 
tell I couldn’t put no more shine enter ’em, an’ 
they looked mighty fine ; at least,” he said, correcting 


108 


Light Ahead. 


himself, as he saw Uncle Ben’s quizzical smile, ‘^as 
fine ’s them bosses ever could look. Lor’ bless jer, 
ef these bosses had all the rubbin’ them bosses 
had that day, why they’d dazzle your eyes so yer 
couldn’t look at ’em. Wal, the missis, she wanted 
me ter go ’long fer coachman, cos she liked ter hav 
ev’ry thin’ mighty stylish, the missis did. Wal, we 
was drivin’ along in fine style, an’ I was a fiatterin’ 
myself t’ I’d got the critters ter lookin’ kinder sorter 
nice, when the fust thing I knowed, Joe, the nigh 
boss, he keeled right over, an’ fell down dead as a 
door-nail. Wal, bless yer, we hadn’t much more’n 
got him loosened from the kerridge than Jim, the 
off boss, he was, he went and died, too.” 

“ Why, Zeke,” asked Maud, with breathless eager- 
ness, “ what was the matter with them ? ” 

“Wal, miss, we’d a new bag o’ bran that mornin’, 
an’ arterwards the master an’ me, we hed it all, what 
do yer call it, kinder looked inter, yer know, the 
’pothecary at the village, he — wal, I dunno what you 
call it’ 

“Analyzed,” suggested Uncle Ben. 

“Yis, yis, that’s it He kinder ana— somethin’, I 
dunno what that big word is, an’ he said as how that 
thar was pizen inter it. But 1 don’t think nothin’ 
o’ that kind, cos we hed some pizen for rats, an’ I 
think the critters got some o’ that. But ’t wan’t my 
fault, yer know, an’ I don’t hev ter curry on ’em no 
more.” 


Light Ahead. 


109 


“Well,” asked Uncle Ben, “wliat did they do about 
the man who sold the bran ? Didn’t they prosecute 
him?” 

“I dunno nothin’ about what that tarnation long 
word means. She tried to make a fuss about it, but 
it was kinder showed up that thar warn’t no pizen 
inter it, an’ so they kinder let it drop. Them country 
doctors, they don’t know nothin’, an’ the master, yer 
know, he knowed well ’nough that thar was rat pizen 
there, and so he didn’t say no more about it.” 

“Well, Zeke, don’t poison my horses,” said Uncle 
Ben, as he mounted to his seat in the carriage, which 
was already filled with a crowd of gleeful children. 

“ Bless yer ! ” said Zeke, with a deprecating wave of 
the hand, “ I didn’t pizen them bosses.” 

“No, no, Zeke, of course you didn’t. If you always 
take as good care of Cherry and Bess as you do now, 
they wont suffer.” 

“ I bet you,” he answered, with a chuckle, as the 
shouting crowd drove away. 

Uncle Ben took care that Alice should occupy a 
seat next him, as he loved to watch her quiet but 
keen enjoyment. They had not proceeded many rods 
before her quick eyes discerned in the distance a 
familiar figure, and turning to Maud, she said, in a low 
tone, “ There’s Lou.” 

“ So it is ! ” exclaimed Maud. “ Who in the world 
is that with her ? ” 

The mystery was soon solved, for Uncle Ben, as is 


110 


Light Ahead. 


the friendly custom in many parts of the country, 
stopped, saying, in his hearty manner, “Good-morn- 
ing, Polly. How are you this morning ? ” 

“Wal,” was the reply, given in a discouraged, 
lackadaisical sort of tone, “I aint nothin’ much to 
brag on. Mister Ben. Pm ein-a-most on my last 
legs.” 

As Polly had been on her last legs ever since Ben 
had known her, and the said legs still answered her 
purpose very well, the information did not cost him 
much anxiety ; so, chirruping gayly to his horses, he 
left them plodding on their weary way. The girls 
had exchanged a nod, for, try as she would, Lou 
could not render herself invisible, or in any way 
escape the recognition of the two whom she most 
dreaded to meet. 

“ O, Uncle Ben !” almost shouted Maud, as soon as 
they were out of hearing, “ who is that woman ? ” 

“ That, dumpling ? why, that’s Zeke’s wife,” he an- 
swered. 

“ Zeke’s wife ! ” she screamed. “ Why, Alice, that 
can’t be Lou’s aunt.” 

“ Shouldn’t wonder a bit,” Uncle Ben replied, turn- 
ing round in order to face the two girls. “ I know 
she was expecting her sister ; and, quite likely, this 
girl is her daughter. 

“Well, well,” said Maud, “ if I were Lou I wouldn’t 
put on so many airs with that coarse woman for my 
aunt.” 


Light Ahead. 


Ill 


O, well, Maudie,” said Alice, “ slie may be very 
good, you know; and then she ought not to be 
ashamed of her because she is coarse.” 

“ That is so like you, Allie,” answered Maud, im- 
pulsively ; “ you are always looking for the good in 
people. I don’t think every body is good, as you do.” 
’ “Tj;ien,” said Uncle Ben, in an approving tone, 
“ Alice has found out one great secret of happiness, 
to make the most of that which we cannot change.” 

“ But, Uncle Ben,” objected Maud, “ do you think 
every body is good ? ” 

“No, Maudie, I do not. The Bible tells us there 
is none good but one, that is God. I think, however, 
that we may discover good traits in every one, if we 
will only set ourselves to look for them.” 

“Do you think. Uncle Ben,” asked Helen Orms- 
bee, a bright girl of fifteen, “that there are more good 
people in the world than there are bad ones ? ” 

“ Well, Nellie,” he answered, reflectively, “that is a 
pretty hard question to answer. It depends very 
much upon your idea of goodness. If by good people 
you mean those who are not positively bad, not guilty 
of any very decided vice or crime — those who are nat- 
urally possessed of kindly feeling, who will do a neigh- 
borly act, provided it does not interfere with their 
own pleasure or profit, then I think the scale would 
preponderate in their favor. But, if by goodness you 
mean, not nominal Christianity, but Christianity in 
its legitimate sense — purity of heart and life in God’s 


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sight, an entire consecration of one’s self to liis serv- 
ice — I am afraid such goodness is comparatively rare.” 

“ I suppose that is true,” she replied, with a kindling 
eye, “ and yet I know so many people whom I think 
are just as good as they can be. There’s our minister 
in Boston, and papa, and mamma, and grandma, and 
Aunt Annie, and Uncle Ned, and you, and — ” 

Uncle Ben turned away his head, and, waving his 
hand with a dissenting gesture, said, 

“ There, there, Nellie, that will do. Don’t be too 
sure. The heart is deceitful above all things : who 
can know it ? Don’t get the habit of exaggerating. 
When you think seriously do you imagine that there 
is any person as good as lie can he f ” 

“N-o,” she answered, hesitatingly, “I suppose they 
might be perfect, but I think they are very good.” 

“Yery good, I grant you. Perfection of which 
you speak can never be attained in this world. But, 
Nellie, did you ever think that it is the motive from 
which we act that renders us acceptable or otherwise 
in the sight of God ? You remember the widow’s 
mite was worth more in Christ’s estimation than many 
much larger gifts, for the simple reason, that the 
offering was made in the right spirit. There can be 
no doubt that there are many deeds which, outwardly, 
appear amiable, or generous, which are performed 
from some lurking, hidden selfishness of motive of 
which even the person himself may be scarcely con- 
scious. It is, perhaps, equally certain that multitudes 


Light Ahead. 


113 


of great and noble acts proceed from purity of thought 
and intention. Of course, we cannot see the motive 
which actuates every one, and so we are bound, in the 
exercise of that charity which thinketh no evil, to put 
upon all the best possible construction.” 

“ Yes,” she replied, in a triumphant tone, “but ‘by 
their fruits ye shall know them.’ So I have the best 
of the argument. Uncle Ben.” 

“ Perhaps you have,” he replied, smiling. “ I hope 
so, Nellie, for the sake of humanity. At least, I am 
willing to concede to my fellow-beings the meed of 
goodness which belongs to them. Now, for instance, 
here is Polly. I believe she is a good woman, that is, 
I mean in the way in which the word is ordinarily 
accepted ; but she has numberless difficulties and 
provocations to contend with, and perhaps her de- 
velopment is not as rapid as it might be under more 
favorable circumstances.” 

“ Where do they live. Uncle Ben ? ” asked Maud, 
now, for the first time, becoming interested in the 
conversation. 

“ In a little house about a mile from the farm,” he 
answered. “ Polly hasn’t much to make her very 
cheery. She has to work very hard, and reaps but 
little benefit from it. I don’t know that we ought to 
blame her very severely if she does grumble and com- 
plain sometimes. I shouldn’t wonder, if in her place, 
we’d grumble more, eh, Maudie ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder,” she replied, laughing. 

8 


114 : Light Ahead. 

“ Uncle Ben, are they very poor ? ” asked Alice, 
timidly. 

“ Poor ! well, yes, fairy,” answered he. You 
know country folks generally have enough to eat and 
to drink, and they manage somehow to get clothes ; 
but they’re very much like the man with the muck- 
rake, they are digging and delving in the dirt, and 
don’t see the crown which hangs suspended right 
over their heads ready to be given them, if they will 
only look up and take it.” 

“ O, yes,” she answered, “ I read all about that in 
the ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress.’ Wasn’t it nice ? ” 

“Very nice, fairy; but I don’t think you’ll ever 
dig in the dirt so busily as to lose your crown.” 

O, I hope not,” she answered, earnestly. “ I’d so 
much rather have the crown than any thing I could 
find in the dirt.” 

‘‘ Suppose,” suggested Uncle Ben, it was a dia- 
mond ring ? ” 

“ W ell,” she said, with her peculiar expression of 
childish innocence, “ I’d a great deal rather have the 
crown, because that means a crown in heaven, doesn’t 
it. Uncle Ben? ” 

“ Yes, fairy, you would be right to choose the 
crown, because it does mean, as you suppose, the 
crown of life which God has promised to give unto 
all who are faithful unto death.” 

When they reached home they found Zeke stretched 
out at full length waiting to take the horses, look- 


Light Ahead. 115 

ing the very picture of indolent ease and content- 
ment. 

“ Here we are, Zeke, all right,’’ said Uncle Ben, as 
he drove slowly through the gate which the factotum, 
with an unwonted show of alacrity, had opened for 
him. 

“That’s good. Mister Ben. O, I knowed as how 
you’d cum back all right, cos them bosses is well-be- 
haved bosses. They aint a-goin’ to cut up no capers.” 

“We saw Polly on the road plodding along, and 
tired enough she looked, too.” 

“ Like enough, like enough. That aint nothin’ new, 
yer know. Saw the old woman, did yer ? Wal, was 
she walkin’ pretty spry ? She said this mornin’ she 
was ein-a-mosf on her last legs, but she’s been on 
her last legs so many times, Polly has, I don’t think 
nothin’ about it.” 

“ That’s just it, Zeke,” said Uncle Ben, lifting the 
children one by one from the carriage, whence they 
scattered in all directions. “ I’m afraid you don’t 
think enough about it. I say, old fellow,” he con- 
tinued, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, 
“ Seems to me you might make it a little easier for 
Polly, if you only would think about it. I know you 
don’t mean to be unkind, Zeke, but you know women, 
as a rule, are uncomplaining creatures, and men get 
used to their ailments, and, as you say, think nothing 
of them, until, before they know it, the light is extin- 
guished, and they are left in darkness.” 


116 


Light Ahead. 


“ Lord bless yer, Mister Ben ! you don’t think 
tbar’s nothin’ the matter with Polly, do yer ? ” asked 
Zeke, now becoming really alarmed. 

“ No, but she looked fagged and worn this morn- 
ing, and I’ve been thinking whether, by a little fore- 
thought, you might not spare her some fatigue.” 

“La sakes. Mister Ben, you don’t know nothin’ 
about it. She will work an’ work, and then she scolds 
about it, Polly does. She would hev them durned 
proud Yorkers here, a sister o’ hern an’ her darter, a 
durned sassy thing she is, too. I tolled her ’twould 
make her extry work, but, la sakes, it didn’t do no 
good. She wouldn’t pay no attention to nothin’ I 
said. But I’ll try an’ be keerful. Mister Ben, cos 
I’d be awful cut up to lose Polly. I’d rather a 
pesky sight lose one o’ the young uns, cos she helps 
me a mighty sight, Polly does.” 

“Hope I’ve stirred him up a little bit,” thought 
Uncle Ben, as Zeke slowly and thoughtfully drove 
the horses off to the stable. “ He’d be a poor for- 
lorn creature without Polly, and he ought to do more 
for her than he does.” 

Maud rushed into the house to communicate to her 
mother the wonderful discovery she had made, that 
the proud Lou Wentworth was a niece of Zeke’s 
wife. 

“ Just think ! ” she exclaimed, “ after putting on so 
many airs about Allie. She must have been morti- 
fied enough this morning. Doesn’t the Bible say 


Light Ahead. 117 

sometliing, mamma, about pride and a bauglity 
spirit ? What is it ? ” 

“ ‘ Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty 
spirit before a fall,’ ” quoted Mrs. Morrison, gently. 
“ But, Maudie, be very careful, my daughter, that you 
don’t rejoice in Lou’s mortification. I don’t know,” 
she added, that Lou has any cause to be mortified, 
except for her unlady-like behavior to Alice. Zeke 
and his wife are poor, it is true, and have not had 
many advantages of education, but they are good, 
honest people, so that she has no reason to blush for 
the relationship.” 

“ I felt sorry for her this morning,” said Alice ; 
not because her aunt was poor, but because I knew 
she felt ashamed, and didn’t want us to see her.” 

“ Kever mind, dear, treat her kindly if you meet 
her, so that she will not think that you have any un- 
kind or revengeful feeling rankling in your heart. 
You know that is the example our Saviour left us, 
and he says also, ‘ Pray for them which despitefully 
use you.’ ” 

When our party reached home dinner was just 
ready to be served, and they were in good condition 
to do full justice to grandma’s sweet, tender lamb, 
fresh vegetables, and delicious apple-pie, with an 
abundance of good rich cream. 

“ Grandma,” said Helen, “ Uncle Ben and I had a 
theological discussion this morning ; didn’t we, Uncle 
Ben?” 


118 


Light Ahead. 


‘‘ Yes,” he answered, and I’m not sure, mother, 
but she' got the best of me. If Nellie were a boy, I 
should expect to hear her preach a doctrinal sermon 
some day.” 

“ She can do better than that,” answered grandma, 
looking fondly at her favorite granddaughter. “ She 
can preach by her daily life the doctrine of faith and 
good works.” 

A vivid flush of crimson suffused Helen’s face, as 
she turned toward grandma, saying, in a low voice 
intended for her ear alone, 

“ That is what I would like to do, grandma.” 

The old lady’s lips were tremulous for a moment 
as she answered, in the same low key, 

‘‘ God bless you, dear, and help you to carry out 
your wish ! ” 

This by-talk was unnoticed by the others, whose 
attention was, for the moment, diverted by some of 
Harry’s childish sallies. 

Mrs. Ormsbee here changed the conversation by 
asking, 

“ How are Zeke and Polly, Ben ? Are they doing 
any better ? ” 

“ No,” answered Ben. “I’ve been lecturing Zeke 
for not taking better care of her, but he says, ‘ La 
sakes,. ’t aint no use ; she wont listen to nothin’ I 
say.’ ” 

“I wonder what Gould Brovm would say if he 
could hear Zeke’s grammar?” said Mrs. Morrison, 


Light Ahead. 


119 


laughing. “ Tliat fellow is such an incorrigible speci- 
men of easy-going self-complacency I should think 
you would get out of patience with him, Ben.” 

“ ’T wouldn’t be no use ; ’twouldn’t do no good,” 
answered Ben, with a successful imitation of Zeke’s 
peculiar nasal twang. “ Gittin out o’ patience 
wouldn’t help it none.” 





CHAPTER VIII. 


I K addition to the ideas of utility, which were 
shared alike by grandma and Uncle Ben, they 
also possessed a strong and hearty appreciation of 
order and beauty. The well-kept lawn, with its vel- 
vety green sward, and the blooming garden, with its 
choice collection of favorites from the floral kingdom, 
all bore witness to the taste for horticulture, which 
lends such a charm to country life. 

“What a pity that we do not more often familiarize 
ourselves with the countless objects of beauty which 
God with such a lavish generosity scatters around us. 
What errors of taste and judgment do multitudes of 
human beings display in the passion for the artificial, 
the semblance of that to which no artificer, however 
perfect his imitations, can impart the peculiar deli- 
cacy of texture, of hue, or of odor which is embodied 
in the very nature of the tiniest, the simplest floweret 
which was ever kissed by a June zephyr. 

The long garden was flanked on one side by mag- 
nificent grape-vines of the choicest varieties, now in 
the full glory of their luxuriant leafage, and the 
promise of an abundant yield of the luscious purple 
fruit given by the already well-set clusters. At the 
extreme end of the garden, and extending across its 


Light Ahead. 


121 


entire width, was a small tract of land separated from 
the orchard beyond by a broad, high hedge of Arlor 
VitcB. This hedge, which was a protection against 
cattle, as well as stragglers of the human species, was 
crowned by a prolific growth of sweet-brier, or brier 
rose, as some call it, which spread its fragrant ten- 
drils and fair, delicate blossoms in all their clinging 
loveliness. 

As grandma knew that Satan always finds some 
mischief for idle hands, as well as that little hearts, 
like older ones, are always happier when the hands 
are employed, she had given orders, some years pre- 
vious to the summer of which we write, that this 
strip of land should be divided into fiower-beds, 
one being designed for each of her granddaughters. 
Here they could spend many hours of each day — in 
the dewy freshness of the morning and the sweet lull 
of the afternoon’s repose, ere the sun seeks his fiery 
couch. The ground was always well and thoroughly 
prepared before the advent of her young guests, and 
this summer an additional bed had been prepared, for 
Alice was to be in all respects treated as one of the 
family. 

The only stipulation which grandma ever made 
was, that after the beds were duly arranged and 
planted, each should take the entire charge of her 
own. They were to be well watered and kept from 
weeds, or the delinquent forfeited her entire right to 
it, and it passed into the possession of the one who 


122 


Light Ahead. 


proved herself most faithful in the discharge of her 
duty. Grandma always took a personal supervision 
of the matter, and had taken care that on the arrival 
of the little girls they should find the box borders 
well clipped and trimmed, and each bed glowing in 
its brilliant beauty. 

Verbenas, with their vivid, flashing waves of col- 
oring ; heliotrope and mignonette, with their deli- 
cate odors, the spicy carnation, and the queenly rose, 
all found a place, while the blue-eyed forget-me-not^ 
the modest little lily of the valley, and the royal- 
robed pansy were not forgotten. Tlie owner of each 
bed was allowed to dispose of its fragrant treasures 
as she pleased, and many were the sick-beds which 
were cheered and brightened by the messengers of 
beauty. To Alice the care of her silent friends was 
a never-failing source of pleasure, and she seemed to 
inhale new life and hope with every perfume-laden 
breeze. 

The girls were all emulous of deserving grandma’s 
praise, for each was conscious in her own heart that 
it would not be given unless deserved, for grandma, 
while gentle and indulgent, was also strict and impar- 
tial. One morning Alice, having finished her break- 
fast, started in advance of the others to her favorite 
place of resort, a low seat in the midst of the little 
garden, which had been constructed for the accom- 
modation of the young florists. Having gained the 
spot, she seated herself for a moment before com- 


Light Ahead. 


123 


inencing the occupation of the morning. While sit- 
ting, balancing her trowel in her hand, thinlving how 
lovely the face of iTature looked with the dew still 
sparkling upon it, she was accosted by the question, 
put in a coarse, surly tone of voice, 

“ Who be you ? ” 

Looking in the direction from whence the sound 
proceeded, she saw the form of a boy, about a dozen 
years old, stretched at full length upon the ground 
at her feet. Whence he came, or how he attained his 
present position, w^ere problems which hads uggested 
themselves, but which she was unable to solve. The 
object before her presented a picture which was any 
thing but pleasing to her. While she enjoyed and 
admired rural life, as she witnessed its manifestations 
in grandma’s well-regulated household, and in Uncle 
Ben’s highly improved farm and neat surroundings, 
yet here was an element which, try as she would to 
overcome the feeling, marred its beauty, and pro- 
duced an unpleasant sensation. 

The boy before her was an ungainly specimen of 
country clownishness and awkwardness. The coarse 
linsey-woolsey jacket and pants had probably fitted 
his figure at some time in his past life, but his legs 
and arms were fast bidding adieu to them, as the 
sleeves of one garment reached but little below the 
elbow, and the other about to the knees, while in the 
region of the waist was an aperture of three or four 
inches, which, tug and pull as he would, their unfor- 


124 


Light Ahead. 


tunate owner could never make narrower. His face 
and hands looked as though last spring’s rains had 
washed such an amount of mud and dirt into them 
that subsequent efforts had not been able to remove 
them, while his head had the appearance of having 
had a rake drawn through its bushy crown. Through 
its carroty locks were generously distributed some 
small bits of hay and particles of dust which showed 
that he had recently sought acquaintance with some 
hay-mow. His dull, greenish-gray eyes wore fixed 
upon Alice’s face with an expression half-frightened, 
half -defiant, as though he were momentarily expect- 
ing to be ejected from his comfortable resting-place, 
but was cherishing a dogged determination stoutly to 
resist all attempts at such a course of procedure. By 
his side lay an old torn straw hat, which he was rap- 
idly rendering less wearable by tearing it to pieces. 
Alice was so much surprised at his sudden appearance, 
that she made no reply to his question, until, in a tone 
still more sullen, if possible, than before, he repeated : 

‘‘ I say, who be you ? ” 

I ? ” said she, at a loss for a moment what to an- 
swer. Why, I’m Alice. I came to visit Grandma 
Hodman.” 

Just at this moment Maud came running down the 
walk, followed by Hellie and Fannie, their eyes wide 
opened in astonishment at finding Alice iu such 
society. The boy still retained his indolent posi- 
tion, while Maud, rushing up to Alice, asked. 


Light Ahead. 


125 


“ Who’s that ? ” 

I don’t know,” she answered, quietly. 

“ Where did he come from ? ” asked Fannie. 

Alice assured them that she was in utter ignorance 
of the whole affair, while Maud, in her headlong fash- 
ion, turned toward the mysterious stranger, saying, 

‘‘ What’s your name, little boy ? ” 

This question provoked a smile from the trio of 
listeners, inasmuch as the little boy was very much 
larger than herself, and, as his lank figure lay prone 
upon the ground, looked almost as tall as a man of 
moderate height. He paid no attention to Maud’s 
display of curiosity until she repeated her question, 
when he grunted out, in his most surly tones, 

“ I wont tell you.” 

After a moment’s silence, he said, shyly, but in a 
somewhat softer tone, indicating with his soiled fore- 
finger to whom his remark applied, 

‘‘ ril Ull herP 

“Well,” said Alice, seeing herself selected as the 
person with whom he was willing to communicate, 
“ Tell me, then, what is your name ? ” 

“ Tony,” he answered, with a groan, showing his 
irregular, yellow teeth in a manner which rendered 
his face decidedly repulsive. 

“ Where do you live % ” she asked. 

“Down thar,” he answered, pointing with his 
finger in the direction of the village. 

“ Don’t you go to school ? ” asked Kellie. 


126 


Light Ahead. 


He glared at her a moment, and then answered, 
shortly, 

“Ho!"’ 

Have you nothing to do ? ” 

“Yes,” he answered, laconically. 

“ Why don’t you do it, then ? ” asked she, gently. 

“ Cos I don’t want ter.” 

“ What have you to do ? ” 

“ Work,” he answered, shortly. 

Eaising her eyes, Alice saw Zeke approaching 
with the shambling gait and general tumble-down 
air which were peculiar to him. With almost every 
other step he gave his faded and well-worn trousers 
a hitch, as though it were with the utmost difficulty 
that he could persuade them to retain their proper 
place. He had received the title of “ Old Zeke,” 
for although not more than forty years of age, his 
hair and beard, which were allowed to “ follow their 
own sweet will,” were already whitened and bore the 
appearance of old age. The skin hung in loose, 
flabby folds over his lantern jaws, while the brow 
was corrugated and seamed in every direction. Add 
to this the loss of several teeth, and the drooping, 
slouching flgure, and you have the picture of a man 
looking nearly double his real age. 

As Tony’s head lay in the opposite direction from 
which Zeke came, his approach was entirely un- 
known to the boy, who lay there in sullen silence. 

“ Why, sonny! ” exclaimed he, as soon as he came 


Light Ahead. 127 

in sight of the recumbent figure, “ what are you doin’ 
here ? ” 

“ I7othin’.” 

“ Why don’t yer go an’ pick up them taters what I 
dug ? ” 

Cos.” 

Zeke advanced and seated himself upon the ground 
in Turkish fashion; then turning toward Tony, he 
asked, 

“ Don’t yer ma want yer ? ” 

“ Dunno.” 

Maud’s curiosity by this time getting the better of 
her, she asked, 

“ Why, Zeke, is that your son ? ” 

“Yes,” he said, “this ere’s my boy, beant yer, 
bub?” he asked, chuckling inwardly, and at the 
same time facetiously poking the boy in the ribs. 
He’s his pa all over agin,” he continued, complacently 
regarding the sulky face before him. “ Aint nothin’ 
like his mother, Tony aint.” 

“ How many children have you, Zeke ? ” asked 
Maud. 

“ Got eight, mum,” he answered, stopping to think 
a moment. “ Le’s see,” he added, “ I kinder forgit.” 

Then holding up his hand, and counting one off 
on each finger ; “ Thar’s Tony, he’s the oldest, Tony 
is ; an’ thar’s Ketury Jane, an’ Tempy— le’s see— yes, 
Tempy, she comes next ; and thar’s Hepzy, an’ Siah, 
an’ Memby — her name,” he continued, in an explana- 


128 


Light Ahead. 


torj tone, “ is Membrance, but we call her Membj for 
short. Lem me see, that’s six — yes, six ; but whar’s 
the other two! O, I know; thar’s the twins. We 
call them Abraham and Isaac. I knowed we hed 
two more,” he added, grinning with infinite satisfac- 
tion that he had been able to recollect the two 
youngest hopeful scions of his house. “ Then we hed 
two more, ’twas twins, when we was fust married, but 
they up an’ died. Thar names was Patience an’ 
Submission. Somehow or anuther, Polly didn’t 
never seem ter hev very good luck with her chil- 
dren. She aint a very good hand ter bring ’em up, 
Polly aint.” 

“Why, Zeke,” said N^ellie, “I should think you’d 
have hard work to take care of so many ? ” 

“ La sakes. Miss Nellie ! Them aint many. Why, 
my mother, she had fifteen children, an’ she edicated 
us all, and brung us up ter be spectable members o’ 
sassiety.” 

“ That’s so, Zeke,” put in Uncle Ben, who had just 
appeared, unseen by any one but Alice. 

“Yes, Mister Ben, that’s so; but, then, she was a 
wonderful fine woman, mother was. The way she 
used ter make us youngsters stan’ round was a cau- 
tion to natur.” 

“Don’t doubt that at all, Zeke,” said Uncle Ben, 
looking slyly at Alice. 

“ But, la sakes ! ” continued Zeke, “ dem aint 
brung up nothin’ as we was. Polly, she gits out o’ 


Light Ahead. 


129 


patience, an’ she kinder cuffs ’em round, an’ then 
they do jist ’zackly as theyv’e a mind ter arter all.” 

!N^eow, sonny, ” he said, addressing the ambitious 
youth by his side, “don’t yer think yer’d better go 
an’ pick up them taters ? ” 

“ iTo ! ” he answered, impatiently, shaking off the 
hand which his father laid upon his shoulder. 

“Well, Zeke,” said Uncle Ben, “1 suppose you 
minded your mother better than that, didn’t 
you?” 

“ I bet yer,” he answered, laughing. “ When she 
said ‘ Git^ I got, yu’d better b’lieve. Come, sonny, 
do’s I tell yer, go an’ pick up them taters. You 
know the commandment wot says, ‘ Honor thy father 
an’ thy mother ; ’ git a promise that yer shell live ter 
be a old man.” 

“ Don’t want ter,” growled Tony. 

If Uncle Ben’s love of authority had equaled his 
love of fun, he would have exercised it by sending 
the boy to his work; but he always enjoyed Zeke’s 
“ and then this little by-talk between father 

and son had given him an insight into the parental 
character of the former which gave incontrovertible 
proof that his previous impressions were correct. 
The boy was being irretrievably ruined by the father’s 
easy indifference and lack of the first principles of 
government. He was growing up, if possible, more 
lazy and more careless than his illustrious parent, who 

was by no means deficient in these characteristics, 
9 


130 


Light Ahead. 


with an additional ugliness and churlishness of nature 
which rendered him infinitely less endurable. 

Zeke was mistaken when he said that Tony was 
“his pa all over,” for while he had inherited the 
least desirable traits of the paternal character, he 
lacked the only one which presented, to outward 
appearance at least, the only redeeming feature, an 
almost imperturbable good nature. Bachelor though 
he was, and unskilled in the training of children, 
yet Ben held a theory, the practice of which would, 
no doubt, have worked wonders in mental and moral 
education had the opportunity for its exercise been 
presented. 

“ It seems to me,” he said, “ if I were you, I would 
apply some of the principles which you say worked 
so well in your case. I would make that boy obey 
me.” 

Zeke’s turn of mind being an exceedingly literal 
one, he did not detect the latent irony which lurked 
in Ben’s remark, so he answered, simply : 

“ Can’t do it, Mr. Ben. Haint got the sperit. I’m 
kinder broke down, yer see. Wot with havin’ to 
work hard, an’ havin’ a family to pervide fur, I aint 
good for nothin’.” 

Zeke’s allusion to hard work provoked a smile from 
Ben, for his office as farm hand was pretty nearly a 
sinecure, as he managed to shirk the greater, and cer- 
tainly the harder, part of the labor. As for the 
“ pervidin’,” the family wants were principally sup- 


Light Ahead. 


131 


plied by Polly’s needle, and by such odd jobs as she 
often secured from the farmers’ wives. 

Suddenly resolving to make an effort to arouse the 
boy from his lethargic state, Uncle Ben said, briskly: 

“ Come, Sonny, you had better go to work. I want 
those potatoes that are dug all in the cellar before 
night. Then the women folks in the kitchen are 
asking for chips. You will find plenty to keep you 
busy.” 

This was said kindly, but firmly, and the boy im- 
mediately aroused himself and lounged away, every 
now and then stooping to pick up a stone, recklessly 
fiinging each one at one of the feathered warblers 
who were pouring from their tiny throats their matin 
song of praise. 

Zeke watched his retreating figure in silence for a 
moment, and then sighed out, ‘‘ I dunno wot ter du 
with that ere boy ; he don’t seem ter want ter do 
nothin’ but kinder lay round all the time.” 

“ Do with him ! Why make him go to work,” 
answered Ben, decidedly. 

“Wal, Mister Ben, sometimes I kinder think he’s 
a-goin to be one o’ them are fellers wot writes varses 
— wot d’ye call ’em ? ” 

“ A poet ? ” suggested I^ellie. 

“Yes, Miss Mlie, yes, that’s it. Well, I kinder 
think as how mebbe he’s a goin’ ter grow up one o’ 
them fellers, cos he thinks so much, yer see.” 

“Thinks! Your grandfather’s fiddle-stick?” ex- 


132 


Light Ahead. 


claimed Ben. Don’t flatter yourself, Zeke ; there’s 
no poet soul in him. He’s downright lazy, and needs 
a few good thrashings to arouse him out of it.” . 

“ Wal, I kinder thought as how mebbe he was a 
watchin’ the stars, yer know, an’ them things wot they 
write varses about.” 

“ You didn’t think he was watching the stars now 
while the sun is shining, did you, Zeke ? ” asked Ben, 
laughing ; “ I thought star gazing was always done at 
night. May be I’m mistaken, though, I never had 
much experience in that line.” 

“ Ho, not zackly, but I kinder thought he mought 
a bin a thinkin’ about em, don’t yer see ? ” 

“Ho, no, Zeke, I don’t see. Get all that nonsense 
out of your head and set him to work in good earnest. 
You have almost ruined him, and the quicker you 
try to make something of him the better for both of 
you.” 

“Wal, yer see. Mister Ben, deown ter Yarmount, 
where I was eddicated, I went ter skule in the winter, 
an did the chores, feedin’ the critters an’ splittin’ the 
wood, yer know, an’ sich like, in the evenin’s arter 
skule, an’ then in the summer I worked onter the 
farm ; an’ yer’d better b’lieve I didn’t hev no time 
for nothin’ but work, and I got tarnation tired, an’ I 
aint never got rested yit, an’ so I kinder thought 
I d let the boy play a spell an’ mebbe he’ll do better 
bimeby. But, yer see, when we’re ter hum, Polly 
she keeps a dingin’ at me ’n him ter do some pesky 


Light Ahead. 


133 


thing or tuther, an’ we don’t neither on us never git 
no rest. She don’t think, Polly don’t, I’ve ben a 
workin’ hard all day an’ want ter keep kinder quiet 
like. But, la sakes ! women don’t now nothin’ abeout 
how men feels. Fact, Mister Ben, they don’t.” 

“ O,” said Ben, smiling, “ women are not so bad as 
you think they are, Zeke. They’re a dear, good set 
of creatures, if you only know how to treat them. 
But you should remember that Polly works hard all 
day, too. Don’t you think she requires some rest as 
well as you ? ” 

“Wal, I specks she does. La sakes! I aint a 
sayin’ nothin’ agin women. I kinder think as how 
God made ’em next ter the angels. Don’t yer think 
he did. Mister Ben ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” he answered. “ But now about 
Tony. Why don’t you send him to school ? ” 

“Wal, yer see, he don’t never take to lamin’ 
much, and so I haint never made him try it.” 

Ben wondered if he had ever made him do any 
thing, but contented himself by asking, 

“ Can he read ? ” 

“ FTo, no, don’t know nothin’.” 

O, Zeke,” laughed Ben, you expect him to be a 
poet, and not know how to read ? ” 

‘^Wal, no. Mister Ben, but he’s powerful smart, 
Tony is, an’ I thought as how ’twould come kinder 
nat’ral like.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


T he month of July, in the city, had been one of 
intense heat. Old Sol had poured upon the 
panting earth his fiercest beams, until the parched 
grass and the foliage, turning into its sere and yellow 
leaf, seemed begging for an outpouring from the 
great reservoir whose waters bring new life and 
vigor to the thirsty soil and the drooping, dying 
vegetation. The burning beams from his fiery car 
blazed in undimmed brightness. Ho cloud, as 
big as a man’s hand, gave promise of the refreshing 
shower. It seemed as though God had forgotten to 
be gracious ; as though he had sealed the heavens, 
and would melt the earth in the fierceness of his 
wrath. Tlie melting, sultry days were succeeded by 
close, oppressive nights, when not a breath stirred the 
tiniest leaf, or waved a single blade of grass, or sighed 
its soft presence upon the exhausted frame of the 
invalid, whose strength was fast ebbing under the in- 
fiuence of this unmitigated heat. 

He lay upon a low couch, so disposed before an 
open window that the first faint breeze would be 
wafted in upon him. He watched hour after hour, 
but watched in vain, for the slightest zephyr to cool 
his burning brow and parched, fevered lips. 


Light Ahead. 


135 


As his wife was bending over him, bathing his 
aching head, and trying, with all her womanly love 
and sympathy, to relieve his suffering, he caught her 
hand, and, drawing her down toward him, imprinted 
a long lingering kiss upon her tremulous lips. 

Opening his eyes and looking upon her with an 
expression which no human language could ever con- 
vey, he said, in faint tones, ‘‘ Your task is almost over, 
Isabel, darling ; I am nearly home. Heat and pain 
and suffering never come there, dearest,’^ he added, 
with a sweet smile. 

O, Charles,” she answered, ‘‘ Do not say so. It 
is the heat which prostrates you so much. It cannot 
last much longer, dear. We must have a change be- 
fore long, and then you will revive. Let me bathe 
you with some of this delicious Cologne. I am sure 
it will refresh you.” 

“ One breath of God’s fresh, pure air would re- 
fresh me more than gallons of that,” he replied, as 
he extended toward her one white, almost trans- 
parent hand. 

“ Yes,” she answered, with an attempt at cheerful- 
ness in her voice, as she tenderly bathed the hand 
that he held out toward her. “ Yes, and that will soon 
come, I am persuaded, and then you will feel so much 
better. See now, dearest, if I am not a true proph- 
etess. The doctor said, only yesterday, that you might 
live some time, and when the autumn comes, I hope 
you will be stronger and more comfortable.” 


136 


Light Ahead. 


“ Do not deceive yourself, my dear wife, the au- 
tumn rains will beat upon my grave. I have some- 
thing I would like to say to you, dearest, and dare 
not defer it any longer. My breath is faint and 
short,” he added, almost gasping, “ but it may be 
fainter and shorter still, and there is no time like the 
present.” 

He lay back exhausted for a moment, and then, 
rallying slightly, he continued, 

“ I know so well what your love and devotion will 
prompt you to do, but, in accordance with our cir- 
cumstances and with my taste, let my last resting- 
place be as simple and unpretending as possible. I 
suppose that although the comfortable dwelling in 
which we were so happy together has passed from 
our possession, I have still a right to repose in the 
cemetery where our little Eddie awaits the arch- 
angel’s trump.” 

Pausing for a moment, but apparently gathering 
strength as he proceeded, he said, 

“Whatever else you choose to plant upon my 
grave, let heliotropes and white chrysanthemums 
have a place there, because the one is emblematical 
of devotion and the other of cheerfulness, and I am 
sure, dearest, that these will be the proper expression 
of your heart, even as they are the exponents of your 
character.” 

A silent pressure of the hand she held was Mrs. 
Hamilton’s only answer, while he went on, 


Light Ahead. 


137 


“You have been a good and faithful wife, Isabel, 
a blessing from the Lord, all the years that he has 
permitted us to live together, and now, that the part- 
ing is so near, we must fortify ourselves by the 
reflection that it will be only for a little while, and 
that we shall spend an eternity of unclouded happi- 
ness in each other’s companionship.” 

She had guarded herself with jealous care, lest she 
should yield to any manifestation of feeling in his 
presence, but now the flood-gates had given way, and 
the torrent of her grief rushed on with uncontroll- 
able power. 

The heart of a true woman is like the night-bloom- 
ing cereus. It conceals its beauty and fragrance from 
the garish light of day, but, unfolding its delicate 
petals, it reveals its beauty and exhales its fragrance 
wdien the pale stars glitter in the vaulted dome 
above. So does she hold in reserve those qualities 
of mind and heart which often remain unobserved or 
unrecognized when happiness and peace and plenty 
reign, but when those whom she loves are enveloped 
in the darkness of sorrow or adversity, be it of greater 
or less extent, she unfolds those lovely characteristics 
which breathe light and life and joy, permeating 
even the heart of the afflicted one with their cheer- 
ing influences. “ Her children arise up, and call her 
blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth her.” 

Mrs. Hamilton had been, as her husband said, “a 
blessing from the Lord.” She had loved him with a 


138 


Light Ahead. 


devotion which stopped just short of that higher and 
purer feeling which she owed to God. In the early 
days of her married life she had struggled with the 
love which she feared might place an earthly object 
in competition with Him whom she desired to reign 
without a rival on the throne of her affections. She 
had wrestled valiantly with this peculiarly trying 
form of temptation, and had come off victor, for, al- 
though strictly and even rigidly conscientious in her 
work of self-examination, she was assured that, dear 
as she held this tried and trusted friend, her Saviour 
still ruled and reigned supreme — paramount to all 
others. 

When the first indications of this great grief began 
to cast their long, dark shadows over her life, the 
agonized cry of her burdened heart had been, “ If it 
be possible, let this cup pass from me but as the 
months passed on, leaden-winged, the never-failing 
source of help was opened to her — the Comforter 
came and made his abode with her, and she was ena- 
bled to add that after clause, which has been wrung 
from so many, many hearts through bitter, scalding 
tears, “ Hot as I will, but as thou wilt.” How the 
light of her eyes, the joy of her heart, the companion 
of her girlhood and of her riper years was preceding 
her to that home of transcendent beauty and purity 
which they had so loved to contemplate. 

How he was to enter upon its glories alone ; would 
it be complete without her. And then she chid her- 


Light Ahead. 


139 


self for imagining that even to him her absence could 
prove a source of regret amid the unspeakable delight 
of that glowing Presence. 

It seemed to her strange now as she thought of it, 
but she had never fancied either there without the 
other. In all her visions of the better land they had 
advanced hand in hand to bow in adoration at the 
Saviour’s feet. Together they had struck their 
golden harps in sweet accord, and their voices had 
rolled in joyous harmony to swell the anthems that 
were rising to the resounding arches of the upper 
temple. Now he was going there alone. Alone! 
"Would he miss her, who for so many years had al- 
ways been near him, as she — O the bitter agony of 
the thought 1 — would miss and long for him ? 

All the past came rushing over her. Her whole 
life spread out before her in panoramic views, scenes 
of pleasure and of pain. Incidents, long forgotten, 
rose unbidden, called up by the revivifying power 
of memory. Every thing was lived over again — the 
smallest act of kindness, the tender words, the looks 
of love unutterable, more precious, if possible, in the 
retrospect than in the possession, till, in the anguish 
of her soul, she seemed to hear the hoarse croak of 
Poe’s raven, “ Never, nevermore.” 

These thoughts had been in her mind many, many 
times, in the silence of the meditative night, when 
sleep forsook her eyelids, and seemed as though it 
would never revisit them, when she watched the rest- 


140 


Light Ahead. 


less, fitful slumbers of him whom she would have 
given worlds for the power to relieve. Many a time 
had she bravely swallowed down the choking sensa- 
tion in her throat, and summoned all her courage to 
appear calm and unruffled in his presence, lest she 
might produce some unwonted excitement, which 
would snap the slender cord which bound the long- 
ing spirit to its frail tenement. 

While the passion of her grief was expending it- 
self, his mind was full of the consoling thought 
which he had just expressed, and in a voice tremu- 
lous with emotion he said, 

“ O, Isabel, darling ! does not that thought com- 
pensate for the pain of parting ? Can you not give 
me up, dearest, knowing that you will soon follow me, 
that the separation will not be a final one, but that 
we shall soon see each other again, face to face, and 
spend together an eternity of unutterable joy ? ” 

“ Yes,” she replied, still sobbing, “when I think of 
it in that light ; but O, my dear, dear husband ! how 
shall I spend the long, long years that may intervene 
before that blissful future ? The weary days and the 
wakeful nights, with this dull aching at my heart — 
this void that never can be filled ; this vain, unap- 
peasable longing for a sound of a beloved voice that I 
can never hear, for the touch of a dear hand that 
I can never feel. O, Charles ! not all husbands and 
wives are to each other all that we have been, and 
sometimes it seems to me that this wicked, rebellious 


Light Ahead. 141 

heart refuses to give up one who is dearer to me than 
mj own life.” 

She paused a moment, and then added, 

“ But, dearest, do not think that I am always so 
unresigned. O no I In answer, I believe, to my 
prayers, God often sends to me his angel of peace, 
and he enables me to say, ‘Even so. Father, for so it 
seemeth good in thy sight.’ ” 

“ Yes, dear^ and you will always find it so. He 
who has said, ‘ My grace is sufficient for thee,’ will 
never fail in an abundant supply. Then the duties 
that he has laid upon you will be a blessing, and 
as you have never neglected the one which lay near- 
est, of however small apparent consequence, I have 
no fears for you. Be assured, dearest, you will be 
sustained and comforted. We have good children, 
Isabel, who will minister to you in your grief and 
loneliness. I should like to leave you above the 
power of anxiety in regard to worldly things, but 
even this may be a blessing in disguise, as it may be 
a wholesome neutralizer of the effect of your be- 
reavement.” 

“O, Charles ; not for one instant will I forget you. 
You will be ever present, a comfort in my hours of, 
sorrow, an element of cheer in my despondency, a 
helpful bearer of my burdens. These you have al- 
ways been to me in life, and these you will continue 
to be, for I shall feel that I have your interest and 
counsel still, unspoken, but not unfelt.” 


142 


Light Ahead. 


“ Yes,” lie replied, thoHglitfully, “and if the opin- 
ion of many is correct, that our heavenly Father, who 
loves to please his children, sends his messengers of 
mercy, through the agency of those whom they have 
known and loved here, who shall say that I may not 
be the messenger of good to my beloved ones ? His 
angels are ministering spirits sent forth to minister. 
Why may he not employ on such errands those who 
have been redeemed by the blood of his Son ? ” 

“ These are things we cannot look into,” she an- 
swered, with a faint smile, “ and which we shall never 
know till we reach that bright world ; but of one 
thing you may rest assured, that I shall look hopeful- 
ly forward to the time of our reunion, untrammeled 
by the fetters of sin. It may be after the lapse of 
years, it may be only a few fleeting months ; but I am 
satisfied that I shall know and love you with a higher, 
a holier, and a purer love than any which is tinctured 
by the taint of earth.” 

“ Amen,” he said, solemnly. “ I should like to see 
my little White Eose once more;” but if I never 
clasp her in my arms again, never imprint another 
kiss upon her pure lips, I shall see her in a brighter 
world. Tell her, darling, that papa will be ready to 
meet her when she reaches the pearly gate.” 

“ I will telegraph for her if you think the end is 
near. Mabel will send a message immediately.” 

“ No, no, let her remain. She is gaining strength, 
and the shock might be too much for her.” 


Light Ahead. 


143 


He lay back with closed eyes and bated breatli, ex- 
hausted by the heat and the exertion of talking. 

Mrs. Hamilton made no reply, but determined to 
consult Dr. Monroe on his morning visit, which had 
not yet been made. She could not herself see any 
indication of immediate danger, but fearing lest she 
might be blinded by her affection, and by her in- 
tense, longing wish to put far off the evil hour, she 
deemed it wiser to appeal to a higher authority. Ee- 
ports from Alice were of such an encouraging nature, 
and, knowing, as she did, how much the child needed 
the life-giving properties which were being so freely 
poured into her system, she was unwilling to recall 
her unless the demand was imperative. It was just 
the opportunity, she thought, that she had desired for 
this the most delicate flower of their social wreath — 
such a healthful location, such kind friends — and she 
so much dreaded the effect of the heat, to say noth- 
ing of her grief at her father’s failing condition. It 
seemed just as though God had raised up these 
friends for her, and she would trust him in this, as 
in every thing else, to do that which was best for all 
of them. 

While conning these thoughts in silence a low tap 
at the door and its quick opening announced the 
presence of Mrs. Dunbar, followed by the good doc- 
tor, who just then flgured so largely in her cogita- 
tions. 

After some preliminary remarks on the part of the 


14A 


Light Ahead. 


physician, addressed to the invalid, and an assurance 
that he was essentially no worse, but was merely suf- 
fering from the depressing effects of the heat, Mrs. 
Hamilton asked, 

“ Then, doctor, you think it unnecessary to send 
for Alice ? ” 

“ O, yes,” he replied, quickly and decidedly ; “ let 
her stay where she is. She cannot have too much 
fresh air and new milk. Let her enjoy them while 
she can.” 

With an arch look at the doctor, and a twinkle in 
her roguish eyes, Mrs. Dunbar turned her face to- 
ward her friend, saying, gayly, 

“Look at me, Isabel. Do I look like a con- 
spirator ? ” 

“ Well, no,” she answered, slowly ; “ at least not 
where much intrigue was required.” 

“ O you don’t half know me ; does she, doctor ? ” 

“ Ho,” he said, laughing, “ I don’t. think she does. 
However the scales will soon fall from her eyes if 
you keep on. Women can’t keep a secret, so you 
might as well out with it.” 

“ O you horrid old doctor ! ” she exclaimed, with a 
pretty assumption of indignation. “Here I have 
been hovering about your office for the last ten days, 
driving you half frantic with my questions and all 
sorts of suggestions of possible and impossible good 
and ill, without so much as a hint to my dearest 
friend, and here you are accusing me of loquacity, 


Light Ahead. 145 

saying I can’t keep a secret. I’m ashamed of you, 
sir ; indeed I am.” 

Turning again toward Mrs. Hamilton, she con- 
tinued, 

“ Now, Isabel, I am going to punish him for his 
want of gallantry. I am going to expose him right 
here in his presence? I have been conspiring against 
you, and he. Dr. Monroe, good friend as you think 
him, is my coadjutor. Innocent as he looks, he has 
entered heartily into my conspiracy, and is assisting 
me in its execution.” 

“ Mrs. Dunbar is correct,” replied the doctor, laugh- 
ing ; “ I am her most loyal assistant in this most nefa- 
rious plot.” 

Then, seeing the mystified expression on Mrs. 
Hamilton’s face, he continued, 

“ But come, my dear lady, this is all Greek to our 
good friends here. The more quickly you translate 
it into good plain, honest English the better.” 

Mrs. Hamilton’s mind being in some degree re- 
lieved from the great weight which had been press- 
ing upon it, and feeling in some sense as though a 
reprieve had been granted her and a precious life 
consigned for a little longer to her keeping, waited 
patiently to hear the disclosure of something — what 
that something was she was utterly at a loss to deter- 
mine. That no new trial awaited her the happy 
frame of mind and cheery manner of her friends 

positively proved. Every thing about them, even to 
10 


146 


Light Ahead. 


the glitter of Mrs. Dunbar’s elegant solitaire, and the 
little satisfied pat of approval which the good doctor 
bestowed upon his medicine case as he deposited it in 
his capacious pocket, seemed to say, “Well done,” 
and to indicate tlie joint ownership of some pleasant 
secret, which evidently concerned herself, else why 
did they come here in this mysterious and unseemly 
manner to parade their little joke, however innocent 
in itself, before her, when her mind and heart were 
overshadowed by the great trial which appeared to- 
be momentarily approaching nearer till it seemed al- 
most at the threshold ! 

She began to think that, in the fullness of their 
pleasant excitement, they had forgotten her very nat- 
ural feelings. Then there suddenly flashed a light 
upon her memory. The very, agreeable doctor was 
a widower. I^ow the mystery was solved. What 
more natural than that he and the wealthy and 
fascinating widow should have some plan of their 
own which, without in the least intending to be 
selfish, but simply out of the abundance of their 
hearts, they discussed in her presence; ay, even in 
that of him who was almost, yet not entirely, beyond 
the power of earthly interest! Quick as the light- 
ning’s wing a feeling of self-reproach came over her, 
for she believed that he was sufficiently unselfish, 
even now, to rejoice with a friend in the prospect of 
earthly happiness. 

Taking the doctor’s hint, Mrs. Dunbar said, 


Light Ahead. 


147 


“ Well, Isabel, I presume my valuable assistant is 
silently bemoaning the loss of his precious time, so I 
may as well allow the fact to beam upon you that we 
have made arrangements for a change of residence 
for you. 'No, not a word,” she continued ; “ you 
have no voice in the matter. I know all you would 
say — impossible, impracticable, and all that sort of 
nonsense, but I am going to have you and yours in 
my house before night, so we may as well proceed to 
business.” 

I — I don’t understand — I mean I don’t see.” 

“ IN^o, I know you don’t see, dear,” interrupted the 
kind-hearted little woman, throwing her arm around 
Mrs. Hamilton’s neck and giving her an affectionate 
kiss, “but we do, and every thing is ready. I en- 
listed Dr. Monroe in my plan in order to give a 
show of authority and prudence to my proceedings. 
A room is all prepared for the dear, sick husband, 
with the bed waiting for him to stretch his poor, 
tired limbs upon it. See, the doctor is all attention 
to answer all your questions, remove all your appre- 
hensions, and silence all your fears. Isn’t that true, 
doctor ? ” 

“Yes,” he replied, smiling, “quite true, my dear 
Mrs. Hamilton ; you need not indulge the slightest 
apprehension. Every thing has been most satisfac- 
torily arranged, and I see the prospect of none but 
good effects from the change. Our friend here has 
her carriage at the door, with two stout servants, who 


148 


Light Ahead. 


will assist tlie good man to a comfortable position, 
and you and I will accompany him to see that no 
shadow of barm comes to bim.” 

“ But, Mabel,” replied tbe lady addressed, putting 
ber band to ber bead, while a puzzled look passed 
over her face, “ I don’t know— I can’t think.” 

“ No, no, dearie, you needn’t think ; it is not at all 
necessary ; we will do all that for you. You are all 
to be my guests till you find a home which will suit 
you better, one where you can be happier than you 
will be with me. Do you hear, dearest ? ” she asked, 
as she noticed an expression of intense gratitude min- 
gled with the independence which formed so large an 
ingredient in her friend’s character ; “ you cannot re- 
fuse to come to me in my loneliness,” she continued, 
in a pretty coaxing way, which was infinitely becom- 
ing, and which her own experience had taught her 
was irresistible. “You cannot have the heart, Isabel, 
to leave me all alone in that great house, where I 
might be cheered and comforted by the sight of your 
dear face and the presence of your good husband and 
children. I want to see youthful faces in my home, 
and to hear fresh young voices ringing through the 
halls.” 

“But, Mabel, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, 
“ think of our numbers. Think w'hat a burden we 
shall be. You are proposing to assume more than 
you are aware of. I cannot think of imposing upon 
your generosity in this wholesale manner.” 


Light Ahead. 


149 


“ I will think of nothing,” she replied, in her im- 
petuous eagerness, “ except that you are going to 
confer upon me the greatest favor that I ever asked 
of any human being. I need you, Isabel; I must 
have you. Come to me. You will, will you not ?” 
she asked, while a tear of genuine emotion filled her 
bright eye. ‘‘ I want to help you nurse your hus- 
band back to health and strength. You shall see what 
astonishing soups and jellies I will have prepared for 
him. He shall have dishes fit for the gods.” 

“You have conquered, you dear, generous creat- 
ure,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, almost overcome by 
this tender consideration for her husband’s comfort ; 
“ I will oppose you no longer. God’s will be done.” 

“ Bravo ! How, then, doctor, will you have the 
kindness to summon our sable assistants, and see that 
your patient is safely conducted to the blue room ? 
I have left orders with my cook to have some re- 
freshment prepared for him. Please remember, O 
most sage and skillful Esculapius, that I give you 
carte-hlanche to make use of any thing the house 
contains either for yourself or this precious pair of 
invalids, for, in my opinion, they both come under 
that head.” 

“ Thank you,” he answered, laughing. “ Be care- 
ful that you don’t place too powerful temptation in 
my way. Poor, weak human nature, you know, Mrs. 
Dunbar.” 

“ I trust you,” she replied, gayly. “ Come, Isabel, 


150 


Light Ahead. 


don your bonnet, and be off. Mabel and I will make 
short work in disposing of things here, and will join 
you at luncheon.” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, “ ‘ ’Twere well ’twere done 
quickly.’ It will not be as favorable for removal a 
day hence. There will be a change of weather in 
less than twenty-four hours,” he added, oracularly. 

I don’t know where you see it,” answered the 
sprightly widow, more from a spirit of contradic- 
tion than from any knowledge of that whereof she 
affirmed. “ The whole expanse of heaven is clear 
cerulean. INTot a cloud as big as a man’s hand is to 
be seen anywhere.” 

“All right,” he replied, with a wise look, as he 
descended the stairs ; “ you’ll think of my prediction 
about twelve o’clock to-night when the thunder rolls 
and the lightning flashes till you’re scared out of half 
your senses.” 

“ Don’t make such horrid prophecies. I’m always 
frightened to death in a thunder-storm ! ” she ex- 
claimed, going to the head of the stairs and looking 
over to catch a last look at the departing trio. 

“Better be prepared for it, then. Time to get 
over such nonsense,” he called back, as he entered the 
carriage and was driven slowly away. 


CHAPTER X. 


T he work of demolition was soon accomplished. 

As the rooms had been hired furnished there 
was but little to be disposed of. A few cooking 
utensils, some ornaments of an inexpensive character, 
with the scanty and well-worn wardrobe of the fam- 
ily, constituted all that remained to them of their 
former abundance. Bureau drawers and closets were 
soon emptied of their contents, and trunks packed, 
and Mrs. Dunbar and Mabel were about to take a 
final leave of the lonely apartments which the latter 
had learned to call home, when a man presented him- 
self at the open door, and, handing in a small box on 
which he said the expressage had been paid, disap- 
peared as suddenly as he came. 

“ Just in time ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar. “ A 
few moments later and we should have been gone. 
From Allie, too. What a disappointment it would 
have been ! ” 

“Yes,” replied Mabel, gently; “but did you ever 
think, Mrs. Dunbar, that God takes care things often 
do come to us ‘ just in time ? ’ ” 

She had learned her mother’s way of recognizing 
God in all things, and she continued, thoughtfully, 


152 


Light Ahead. 


“ This is a matter of comparatively small impor- 
tance, involving, so far as we know, nothing more 
serious than a passing disappointment ; but in things 
which produce great and even grand results he often 
sends the means for their timely accomplishment.” 

“Do you think, dear,” asked the other, gently, 
“ that God is interested in the affairs which concern 
each one of us — affairs I mean of every-day life ? j 
Those which affect the universe, are all governed by 
him, of course, in a general way, but are we not lost 
sight of and merged in the great whole over which 
he presides ? ” 

“ O, no ! ” answered Mabel, earnestly, “ I don’t 
think so. I delight in the thought that I, insignifi- 
cant as I am among the millions of created beings, 
am not overlooked, but that he knows and supplies 
all my needs. I was thinking only this morning 
that God had sent you just in time to make my dear 
father so much more comfortable than he could be 
here, and, if your discovery of us had been deferred 
a few weeks longer, it might have been too late for 
him to profit by your generosity.” 

“ Tlien if that be so, Mabel dear, how do you ac- 
count for it that I did not find him before? then 
this change might have been made earlier, and 
possibly your father might not have suffered so much 
from the heat and other causes as he has done.” 

“Well, answered Mabel, timidly, “indeed, dear 
Mrs. Dunbar, I do not like to appear to be instructing 


Light Ahead. 


153 


you ; but may it not be that be tries our faith by 
withholding the relief until just before it would be too 
late ? Do you remember when Abraham would have 
offered Isaac as a sacrifice, the ram was not caught 
in the thicket until just in time to prevent the deed. 
The knife was already raised above the boy’s breast, in 
readiness to perform the fatal act, when the profusion 
of a substitute was made known to him. Well, I de- 
clare ! ” she added, recollecting herself and coloring 
deeply, “ I did not mean to preach you a sermon.” 
Mrs. Dunbar hesitated a moment, and then said, 
‘‘Well, perhaps you are right. I acknowledge 
that I have never thought very deeply upon these 
subjects ; but, then, I did not have Christian parents 
as you have, Mabel.” 

There was a wistfulness in the tone and manner 
in which this answer was given that touched the girl 
inexpressibly, and she replied, gently, 

“ Begin now, dear Mrs. Dunbar. It is not too 
late.” 

Mrs. Dunbar turned hastily away to conceal the 
emotions which were visible on her noble features. 
Quickly recovering herself, she said, 

“Well, I believe our task is done. We will leave 
these things here for the benefit of the next tenant.” 
Then looking at her watch she added, 

“We shall have plenty of time to reach home 
before luncheon. I told James to be here at noon 
with the carriage. He is usually very punctual. I 


154 


Light Ahead. 


wonder lie is not here. Ah ! here he is,” she ex- 
claimed, as the sound of wheels and the prancing of 
horses’ feet announced his arrival. 

However our circumstances may be improved, it 
matters not how superior the accommodations which 
await us, there is always a sadness in leaving the 
place which has been our home. That sacred word 
embodies so many affections, such sparkling joys, 
such deep, dark sorrows, the birthplace often of our 
heart’s dearest and tenderest love. There is always, 
and must necessarily be, to the thoughtful mind a 
feeling of attachment, a cluster of memories clinging 
around the dismantled walls, the denuded casements, 
that even through the bare, unhomelike aspect, the 
grim desolate appearance of every room carries us 
back to the days that are gone, never to be recalled. 
The walls become repeopled with the faces of the 
loved which once hung there ; the empty rooms echo 
with their voices, and tears start unbidden as we bid 
each familiar spot a mute farewell. 

When they reached the house Mrs. Dunbar drew 
Mabel into the library, and, closing the door, she 
pressed a warm kiss upon her lips, saying, 

“Welcome home, Mabel dear. It shall be your 
home until you leave it to share a far dearer one with 
the object of your heart’s choice.” 

Mabel’s feelings were too deeply moved for a re- 
ply, and she followed her kind hostess in silence to 
her father’s room. 


Light Ahead. 


155 


“Mrs. Dunbar’s bouse was one of those palatial 
mansions of which New York is so justly proud. 
Occupying the south-west corner of two of its most 
magnificent streets, its location was as unrivaled as 
its architecture was imposing. 

When Mabel entered the room which had been 
assigned to her father’s use her face became radiant, 
and, going up to him, she threw her arms around his 
neck, exclaiming, 

“ O, papa ! I am so glad to see you once more in 
the midst of surroundings that look so comfortable 
and so cozy, and where every thing is so lovely ! ” 

“ Thank you, darling,” he replied, taking h er hands 
in one of his, and with its fellow stroking her soft 
hair and speaking features. “ My daughter is pleased 
to see me here in such a mansion as this — how 
much more will she rejoice when she meets me in 
the one to which I am going before her, the one ‘ not 
made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’ ” 

Mabel fell on her knees beside his couch, and 
gently caressing the thin, scant locks and the sunken 
cheeks, she said, in a low voice, 

“ O, yes ; that will be better still.” 

Then, in a firmer, louder tone, she asked, 

“ Did the fatigue of moving distress you much ? ” 

“ O, no ! ” he answered, smiling. “ It was all done 
so gently and with such thoughtful care, that I don’t 
think that I am any the worse for it. Dr. Monroe 
left me some medicine to take in case I should 


156 


Light Ahead. 


experience any unfavorable results, but I think it 
will be unnecessary.” 

“ By the way ! ” exclaimed Mabel, suddenly recol- 
lecting the little box which in her excitement she 
had forgotten, “ I think I have something which will 
do you more good even than the doctor’s medicine. 
Here it is,” she added, playfully holding it up before 
his eyes. “ It is from your little White Rose, and 
I will open it at once.” 

“ O ! ” she exclaimed, as she removed the lid, and 
saw reposing upon their snowy bed of damp cotton 
a small collection of lovely flowers. 

“ J ust see, papa ; how exquisite ! And here is a 
little note, too. Let us see what the darling says.” 

“ I thought,” wrote Alice, “ that papa would like 
these flowers, because, besides being so pretty, they 
grow in the little garden that grandma gave me. 
O, mamma ! they are so kind to me, that if I didn’t 
keep thinking of papa being sick and in pain, I 
should be very happy. Dear Mrs. Morrison selected 
and arranged my flowers for me, because I wanted to 
send those that have a nice meaning to them, and she 
said that papa would know what they mean, and so I 
hope they will speak nice, loving words to him, just 
as I would do if I were near enough. There is one 
there that I like very much, the heliotrope, because 
Mrs. Morrison says that it means devotion, and papa 
knows that I am his devoted little daughter, 

“Alice.” 


Light Ahead. 


157 


Mr. Hamilton took the sweet offering, and with 
dewy eyes pressed it to his lips. Then, as he inhaled 
their delicious fragrance, he said, 

“Dear little human flower! These are scarcely 
sweeter than she.” 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Mabel, laughing, “ didn’t I 
tell you that I had something that would revive you ? 
And mamma, too, something has done her good al- 
ready. 1 don’t know whether it is Allie’s flowers 
or this pleasant change which has affected her so 
much. She looks as though she had swallowed a 
powerful tonic.” 

“ Say rather a cordial, Mabel, dear,” answered her 
mother, “ for that implies comfort as well as renewed 
vigor. In view of such kindness as we have re- 
ceived, how can I be otherwise than cheered and 
comforted? Your dear father bore the fatigue so 
much better than I feared, that my heart is full of 
thankfulness. And I am sure we can never repay 
so kind a friend.” 

“Ho, indeed,” answered Mabel, looking around 
with admiring eyes ; “ she has treated us as though 
we were nabobs.” 

The apartments assigned to the Hamilton family 
consisted of a suite directly over the parlors, and cor- 
responding with the ones opening on the other side 
of the hall occupied by the mistress of the mansion. 
The one appropriated to Mr. Hamilton’s use being a 
comer room, with windows on two sides, commanded 


158 


Light Ahead. 


a view of some of the most stately and elegant dwell- 
ings in the city, as well as of the stream of sumpt- 
Hous equipages and stylishly dressed pedestrians who 
thronged its aristocratic avenues. 

A carpet of soft neutral tints, with a delicate 
tracery of blue, covered the floor. Its deep velvety 
tufts gave back no echoing tread, but one felt in- 
clined to stoop and pick the tiny clusters of fleld 
daisies and forget-me-nots, which were lightly scat- 
tered over its surface, being persuaded that they 
would form a lovely breast-knot for some fair damsel* 

I^ot so lovely, however, were they as the exquisite 
natural beauties which, formed into bouquets, fllled 
rare antique vases or tiny bud-holders of cut glass 
and silver, breathing their grateful odors through the 
rooms. The furniture of the two kinds of walnut, so 
much sought after in these modem days, but of quaint, 
antique design and exquisite finish, formed to supply 
every imaginable want, each piece filling its appropri- 
ate place. 

A few choice paintings adorned the walls, while in 
one corner upon a pedestal stood a bust of one of 
America’s greatest poets — the venerable and lamented 
Bryant. Various other elegant little trifles were 
disposed about, making the room a most charming 
retreat from the heat and glare of the sun, as well as 
from the vulgarity and confusion of the bustling 
world. The low grate, with its bars of polished steel, 
and its graceful setting, looking so cool now, was 


Light Ahead. 159 

nevertheless suggestive of warmth and comfort in the 
lusty, rollicking winter. 

Mr. Hamilton’s couch had been placed in range 
with the west windows, whose draperies having been 
removed afforded him a view of some fine maples, 
the graceful proportions and luxuriant foliage of 
which pleased his artistic eye. His faithful wife sat 
by his side plying her fan and trying to make him 
as comfortable as possible during the hours of that 
scorching day. 

“ See, Isabel,” he said, pointing out of the window, 
“ I believe there is a breeze rising. There is cer- 
tainly a stirring of the leaves. They have been so 
long motionless it is a pleasant sight to see them 
move. It may bring us a shower.” 

“Yes,” she replied, after watching for a moment, 
“ you are right, and I do hope that before long there 
will be ‘ a sound of abimdance of rain.’ ” 

Dr. Monroe was correct, and when Mrs. Dunbar 
was awakened at midnight from her first sleep by the 
crashing of the thunder and the lightning’s flash, 
she did think, as he had playfully bade her, of his 
prophecy, and tried to overcome the terror which, 
fight against it as she would, she could not subdue. 
It was useless to call herself childish and resolve to 
put it out of her thoughts, and cover her eyes with 
her hands and go to sleep. Another rolling peal, 
another flash, and her bravery was all gone and her 
terror returned with redoubled force. 


160 


Light Ahead. 


Mabel, too, was wakeful, finding it impossible to 
sleep, not so much from fear of the storm as from the 
strangeness of her surroundings, and the nervousness 
consequent upon the excitement of the day. She 
tried in vain to compose herself to sleep, but it 
seemed as though her eyes were incapable of closing, 
or were determined that nothing should induce them 
to cease their vigilance. 

Presently she saw, or thought she saw, a white, 
robed figure enter the room, and although not super- 
stitious or weak-minded, she involuntarily shuddered, 
and a chill ran through her frame. The ever-present 
dread of her father’s becoming suddenly worse, and 
of the time which she knew must come, was upper- 
most, and fearing, she scarcely knew what, she asked, 
in trembling tones, 

“ Is that you, mamma ? ” 

‘‘Xo, Mabel dear, it is I. Do not be alarmed, 
there is nothing the matter, except that I could not 
sleep, and I was selfish enough to come and see if 
you are wakeful, too,” answered Mrs. Dunbar, as soft- 
ly as she could. “ I am so frightened ; may I come 
and lie down by you? Just see how I am shaking 
with terror. Feel my hands.” 

Mabel took the extended hands in both of hers, 
and exclaiming, “ Why how cold they are ! ” tried 
to chafe them and soothe the agitated heart. “ Are 
you always so much alarmed ? ” she asked. 

0 yes, always ; and I am so glad to have you all 


Light Ahead. 


161 


here in the house with me. Just imagine me in this 
great house, with no one but the servants, shaking 
and trembling with fear in every thunder storm ! ’’ 

“ What a pity,” was the gentle answer, “ that you 
suffer so much. Is it constitutional ? ” 

“ O no, not constitutional,” she replied, shuddering. 
“ I was in a house when I was very young that was 
struck by lightning. One of the servants was killed, 
and since that I have always experienced this nerv- 
ous tremor whenever I see the lightning. I always 
begin to feel it when a shower is approaching, and 
although I have struggled against it, it is impossible 
for me to rise above it. My husband used to say it 
was all nonsense, but he didn’t know, and there was 
so little in comnion between us that I never told him 
the cause of it.” 

‘‘ Well, dear Mrs. Dunbar — ” 

‘‘ Call me auntie,” she interrupted. “Your mother 
and I are as dear to each other as any sisters ; so I 
am to be ‘ auntie ’ to all of you.” 

“ Thank you, dear auntie,” replied Mabel, drawing 
still closer to the trembling form beside her. “ I think 
there is but one way to look at this, as at every other 
harmful agent, or— rather,” she said, correcting her- 
self, “any agent which possesses elements of harm, 
and that includes every thing we see and feel, that 
God is in them all, making subservient to his purpose 
those elements which are constituent to all things — 
elements of good and of evil 5 that he is in the storm as 
11 


162 


Light Ahead. 


well as in the calm ; on the lightning’s wing, and in 
the thunder’s roar, as well as in the gentlest breeze 
that blows. It always seems to me that the thunder 
is his voice, and I like to listen and try to understand 
what he says.” 

“ I would give a great deal to feel so, but to me 
there is no beauty, no majesty, nothing but abject 
terror even in the contemplation of it, and it is 
always an absolute relief to me when the season of 
showers is past.” 

“ ‘ He that dwelleth in the secret places of the 
Most High shall abide under the shadow of the 
Almighty. . . . He shall cover thee with his feathers, 
and under his wings shalt thou trust. . . . Thou 
shalt not be afraid for the terror by night ; nor for the 
arrow that flieth by day. ... A thousand shall fall at 
thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it 
shall not come nigh thee For he shall give his an- 

gels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways.’ ” 

These words quoted by Mabel in a low voice 
seemed to produce a soothing effect, and as the vio- 
lence of the storm was soon exhausted, Mrs. Dunbar 
sunk into a peaceful slumber. 

The next morning broke dark, rainy, and chilly, 
with one of those sudden changes which, in this 
variable climate, we so often experience, and which 
seem in a few hours to transport us from almost 
tropical heat to a temperature in some degree resem- 
bling that of the polar regions. The fountains w’ere 


Light Ahead. 


163 


opened at last, and a steady fall of rain continued all 
day. The thirsty earth at last was drinking its fill 
of the pure cooling drops. 

Going to the room occupied by her little brothers, 
Mabel found them both awake, and Charlie, the 
elder, sitting up in bed with an expression of more 
than usual thoughtfulness on his bright face. 

Sister Mabel,” he said, as soon as she appeared, 
a pleasant picture framed in the door- way ; “ how 
long will it be before I shall be a man ” 

‘‘ O ! a good many years, Charlie,” she answered, 
smiling. “ A little boy of eight years old will have 
to study a great deal and do a great deal of playing 
before he gets to be a man. But what makes my 
little brother so anxious to grow up all at once ? ” 

“ Why,” he replied, ‘‘ I heard papa the other day 
praying to God that Georgie and I might grow up to 
be good men and help mamma, but I don’t want to 
wait so long ; I want to begin now, right now,” 
replied the little fellow, clenching his fist in the in- 
tensity of his strong purpose. 

“ But you must wait God’s time, Charlie dear, and 
until he makes you big and strong enough he will 
find somebody else to help mamma.” 

Can’t I do it now ? ” he asked, with great, ear- 
nest eyes. 

“Yes,” replied his sister, smiling. “You and 
Georgie can both help mamma and papa by being 
good, obedient little boys, by going to school and 


164 


Light Ahead. 


BtudjiDg hard, so that you may grow up to be intel- 
ligent and good men. Isn’t that worth trying for ? ” 
Both little boys gave a simultaneous assent, and 
springing lightly out of bed, began a vigorous process 
of dressing, as though determined to commence their 
efforts for the achievement of their great wish. 

Thanks to the ward schools of the city, where are 
to be found the children of some of its best and 
most substantial citizens, these little boys were lay- 
ing the foundation of a solid education, which, as 
Mabel had said, would enable them to grow up men 
of intelligence, and good practical knowledge. 

Entering the parlor after breakfast, she found Mrs. 
Dunbar engaged in disposing some lovely flowers in 
the exquisite vases which adorned the room. After 
watching in silence for a moment the graceful ar- 
rangement formed by her nimble Angers, she said, 

‘‘ Please, auntie, give me something to do.” 

“ Something to do, dear ! Why, I thought your 
time was fully occupied already.” 

O no ; mamma will scarcely allow me to do any 
thing for papa, and my music pupils do not occupy 
all my time ; but if I were three times as busy as I 
am, I should still wish to be doing something for you, 
to show my love and gratitude.” 

“ Which is all very unnecessary, my dear child ; 
but if you desire some occupation, I shall give the 
laborious task of a daily arrangement of flowers for 
the parlor and for your own rooms. There is always 


Light Ahead. 


165 


an abundant supply. Take from the conservatory or 
garden, just such as please you, and as many as you 
choose.” 

“0, auntie, thank you; that will be delightful. 
But may I not decorate your rooms, also ? ” 

“ By all means, if you wish ; but do not take too 
much upon yourself, or you will become fatigued 
before you commence your teaching.” 

“No danger, auntie dear. You shall see how 
artistic my arrangement will be ; only don’t scold me 
if I rob the conservatory of too much beauty.” 

“ Never fear,” was the laughing rejoinder, as Mabel 
started off on her round of daily duties. 

In relating to her mother both her conversations 
of the preceding day, Mabel said ; 

“ Don’t you think, mamma, if auntie were a Chris- 
tian, this fear would be taken away from her? You 
know David says he will not fear even though he 
walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” 

“ I think that, undoubtedly, much of it would be 
removed, more especially as she is not naturally timid 
or superstitious. As a girl, she was always courageous, 
and generally foremost in all the mad-cap exploits in 
which young ladies, while at school, often indulge. 
She was then, apparently, afraid of nothing. I do not 
think it probable that her married life has changed 
her very materially in that respect, so I have no doubt 
that the terrible accident of which she told you is the 
sole cause.” 


166 


Light Ahead. 


“ I wish she were a Christian,” sighed Mabel, “ and, 
mamma, I think she wishes so, too.” 

“We must pray for her, my dear, and we must also 
remember that the daily life of those who profess to 
be Christians does very much to woo or to repel oth- 
ers. Let us be very watchful that we do nothing to 
lower the standard of Christian character, but rather 
strive to win her to the same blessed faith, and to 
recommend the religion of Jesus by such a course of 
living as he shall approve.” 




f CHAPTER XL f 

RAXDMA RODMAX was right. Alice’s cheeks 



yj were becoming rounded, and in place of the color- 
less purity which they had hitherto worn, there began 
to be visible a faint roseate flush. It would be too 
much to say that she was in any degree approximat- 
ing toward Maud’s plump and rosy looks, but this was 
at least a beginning, and a bright earnest of that im- 
provement which a few more weeks passed in an 
atmosphere both physically and morally so beneflcial 
might effect for her. 

“ Halloo, youngsters ! ” exclaimed Uncle Ben, as he 
came sauntering along toward the pleasant spot where 
the quartette of little girls usually spent the hours 
when the sun began to cast long shadows upon the 
smoothly-shaven lawn and the brilliant flower beds 
previous to his departure for the other side of the 
globe. They loved to watch his declining rays, and 
so, after their early tea, they would betake themselves 
to this little bower where they could receive his good- 
night benediction. 

“ Halloo ! ” he repeated, seeing them almost breath- 
lessly watching a peculiarly brilliant sunset, each one 
seeing something which, in imagination, closely resem- 
bled some tangible form with which she was familiar. 


168 


Light Ahead. 


“ O ! ” exclaimed Maud, “ see that bird. I can see 
all the feathers in its wings. O, I hope it wont fly 
away ! ” 

“What a silly wish, Maud,” said Fannie, with a 
very wise look. “ Of course it will fly away. There 
it goes now.” 

“Yes,” said ITellie, “it is going, Maudie ; but I can 
see more than its feathers. I can see a little tuft on 
the top of its head — a top-knot, I suppose it is — and 
its beak, and, O, Maud, I can see the down on its 
breast. What a beauty! But it’s changing now,” 
she added, in a tone of regret. 

“ What do you see, Allie ? ” 

“I see,” said Alice, quietly gazing with rapt eyes 
on a pile of gorgeous flame-colored clouds, “ a cliariot 
of Are and horses of Are. O, Nellie,” she whispered 
in a low voice, in which was mingled a strong element 
of awe, “it seems to me that I see Elisha standing 
there, and hear him saying, ‘My Father, my Father, 
the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof !’ O, 
see ! it is going up, and doesn’t it seem to you that 
you see Elijah’s mantle falling ? ” 

“ O, Allie,” answered Nellie, “ what an imaginative 
little thing you are ! and you are so earnest and sol- 
emn about it, too,” she added, giving her a warm 
kiss. “You make me think I see it all, whether I 
do or not.” 

As the sunset was fading Uncle Ben, at last, gained 
a hearing. 


Light Ahead. 


169 


“Well!” lie exclaimed, “so you are all so much 
engaged with Old Sol’s cloud-pictures that you can’t 
notice me. Hey, princess 1 ” he said, seating himself 
by her side and pinching her cheek, which was flushed 
with the last rays of departing day, “ what do you say 
to a grand picnic and a nice ride over to the lake ? ” 

“ O,” she answered, looking up quickly, “ I think 
it would be splendid.” 

“You do, eh, fairy?” he said, laughing. “Well, 
that’s enough. A fairy princess has only to issue her 
commands, and they are obeyed.” 

“ O, Uncle Ben,” interrupted Maud, “ when are we 
to have it ? ” 

“ Whenever it suits her royal highness,” he replied, 
turning to Alice with a low bow and mock humility 
of tone. “Will your highness be pleased to name 
the day ? ” 

“ Just when it suits you,” she replied, while a bright 
color suffused her face. 

“ In sooth, you are a very accommodating princess. 
Well, dumpling, as the princess has delegated her 
authority to me, I hereby proclaim that to-morrow, 
if it please yon majestic orb, w^hose exit we have just 
witnessed, to visit us with his-cheering beams, we pro- 
pose to make a jolly little party, have a sail on the 
lake, and return by moonlight. Will that please you, 
princess ? ” 

“ Just exactly,” she answered, looking into his face 
with a pleased smile. 


170 


Light Ahead. 


“ Shall we take our dinner with us ? ” asked Maud, 
eagerly. 

“ The supply of suitable nutriment for the gastro- 
nomic organs is with you a prime consideration, isn’t 
it, dumpling? Well, let me assure you, that every 
attention has been paid to that part of the pro- 
gramme, and the larder has been taxed to its utmost 
capacity. The feminine portion of the household, 
whose duty it is to attend to the culinary department, 
have provided an inviting bill of fare, to which, I 
have no doubt, you will do ample justice. Nothing 
has been omitted that can in any way contribute to 
the creature comforts of the princess, or of you and 
your esteemed associates. The more mature portion 
of the company, myself included, flatter themselves 
that they have managed the arrangements admirably. 
The carriage is in its best possible show and shine, 
and the horses, being in their finest trim, have received 
orders to conduct themselves like the well-behaved 
quadrupeds that they are. ^TherrJs aristocratic bosses, 
them is,^ Therefore, be it known to you, that if the 
heavens are propitious, and no unforeseen and irre- 
mediable circumstances conspire to prevent our enjoy- 
ment of the proposed trip, we shall leave the manor- 
house immediately after the matutinal meal. The 
princess and her train will please be in readiness at 
that hour, in order that we may encounter no delay, 
as the fresh morning hours are preferable for so long 
a drive.” 


Light Ahead. 171 

Having finislied this grandiloquent speech, he 
turned awaj, laughing, and retraced his steps. 

“ O, Uncle Ben,” called out Nellie, “you are too 
absurd ! What put such nonsense into your head ? ” 

“Don’t know, Nellie. I suspect if my brain were 
dissected there would be found a great deal more 
nonsense than the opposite commodity. But wouldn’t 
I make a good courtier ? ” 

“ First-rate,” she answered, laughing. 

As he turned he caught the outline of Alice’s figure 
as it was brought out in bold relief against the dark 
background formed by the hedge. Her slight form 
and ethereal loveliness were intensified by the very 
decided contrast, as well as by the almost unearthly 
glow imparted by the fading light. In that lingering 
look she became photographed upon his memory, and 
the impression was never effaced. 

Nellie’s answer had scarcely been given, when 
grandma’s voice was heard warning them that the 
nightly dews were beginning to fall, and that they 
had better return to the house. As Alice rose from 
her seat to obey the summons, she felt a slight twitch 
on the skirt of her dress, and looking down she saw 
the greenish eyes and gaunt figure of Tony. No 
one had noticed in the gathering twilight the poor, 
dilapidated looking object that lay stretched upon 
the ground, between the low seat occupied by Alice 
and the thick hedge beyond. 

He held up his fingers with a gesture of silence. 


172 


Light Ahead. 


but still retained his hold upon her dress as though 
afraid that she would escape him. She said nothing, 
and the girls followed Uncle Ben to the house, not 
noticing that she had remained behind. 

“ Say,” said Tony, eagerly, as he saw them leisurely 
moving away, “ Be you from York ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered, briefly. 

“ Bm sorry,” he said, “ cos then I don’t want ter 
have nothing ter do with yer.” 

‘‘ Why ? ” she asked, with wondering eyes. 

“ Cos,” he replied, shortly. 

“ Because what ? If you want to say any thing to 
me, Tony, say it. I must go on ; it is getting dark.” 

Wal, cos, if all the York gals is like that proud 
thing down ter hum, I don’t want ter have nothin’ ter 
do with ’em. I hate her ! ” he exclaimed, vehemently. 

“ O, Tony, don’t you know you musn’t hate any 
body?” asked Alice, gently. “You know Christ 
said so.” 

“ Who’s he ? ” 

“ Why, Tony, don’t you know who Jesus Christ 
is ? The dear Saviour who died for us ? ” 

“No,” he answered, looking at her with a stupid 
stare. “Don’t know nothin’ abeout him. Never 
heerd tell on him.” 

“ Don’t you go to Sunday-school ? ” 

“ No.” 

Alice was shocked at the pitiable ignorance of this 
untrained youth. He had reached the age of twelve 


Light Ahead. 


173 


without ever having heard that Xame which she had 
been taught was above every name. She had heard 
of heathen, and it seemed to her that here was one 
right before her eyes. She tried, in her childish 
fashion, to tell him of the great redemption purchased 
for sinners by the Saviour of whom she spoke, and of 
the sacrifice once offered on Calvary, but she had to 
deal with an unappreciative listener. At first he 
listened with eyes wide open with astonishment, but, 
like many an older and more intelligent caviler, he had 
not much faith in a personage who lived more than 
eighteen hundred years ago. 

He interrupted her by asking, Say, be you all 
a-goin’ on that there picnic ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Alice. 

“Wish’t I could go too,” he half sobbed out. “I 
don’t never go no whares.” 

Alice made no reply, feeling that she had no voice 
in the matter, and yet pitying the poor forlorn child 
of poverty and neglect. 

“ Couldn’t you jist ax Mr. Ben ter let me go ? ” he 
asked, in such a tone of entreaty, that she determined, 
in spite of her timidity, to make the attempt. She 
had abundant proof that Uncle Ben would do almost 
any thing to please her, besides she believed that his 
good nature and kindly feeling would induce him to 
accede to the request. 

Seeing him returning in quest of her, she turned 
hastily away, saying. 


174 


Light Ahead. 


“Well, Tony, I’ll see what I can do; but you 
know, I haven't really any right to ask him, and 
then, there may not be room. But don’t be down- 
hearted because you’re poor, and because, as you 
say, you never go anywhere. May be you’ll see 
better times some day, somehow, I think almost every 
body does some time in his life. Why, I’m poor,” 
she added, in a low, shy tone, “ and Jesus Christ was 
a great deal poorer than either of us, because he had 
no home, only the stable where he was born.” 

“ Didn’t he ? ” asked Tony, in a half-indifferent 
manner, and yet with a slowly awakening interest. 

“ Ho,” replied Alice, “ but I can’t tell you any 
more about him now, because Uncle Ben is coming 
to look for me, and it’s almost dark, but I’ll tell you 
all about him some other time. Good-night, Tony.” 

“ Good-night,” he answered, half sulkily. “ Be 
yer sure you’ll ax Mr. Ben ? ” 

“Well, yes, I guess so.” 

Alice’s task was more easy of accomplishment than 
she had imagined, but had it been tenfold as difficult 
she would, nevertheless, have performed it. Hers 
was one of those intensely conscientious natures which, 
seeing a duty, or something which it conceives to be 
a duty, will execute it, however distasteful it may 
prove to be. 

Seeing her talking with Tony, Uncle Ben veiled 
his surprise and curiosity under a bantering manner, 
exclaiming. 


Light Ahead. 


175 


Well done ! Our fairy princess must surely be 
dispensing ber favors to that poor, benighted child 
of earth ! But, then, that’s after the manner of fair- 
ies, isn’t it ? ” 

‘‘Yes,” she replied, somewhat absently; “but, O, 
Uncle Ben, I am so sorry he has not any body to 
teach him. He doesn’t know any thing about the 
Saviour. He says he never heard of him. Isn’t that 
dreadful ? ” 

“ Yes, it is dreadful. Poor little chap ! I’m afraid 
he don’t have the best training in the world.” 

Tightening her hold upon the hand of her com- 
panion, as though nerving herself to ask the question 
which she longed and yet dreaded to ask, she said, in 
a slightly embarrassed hesitating manner, 

“ Uncle Ben, I want to ask a favor of you. May I ? ” 

“ A favor ! ” he repeated, with an air of simulated 
astonishment. “ A fairy princess ask a favor of one 
of her subjects ! That is an unheard of condescen- 
sion. Why ! you have only to command, and I, as 
in duty bound, obey.” 

“ O, Uncle Ben ! ” she exclaimed, laughing; in spite 
of her earnestness, at his comical face and manner. 
How funny you are. But really, I do w’ant you to 
do something for me, will you ? ” 

“ Do something for you ? Of course, in virtue of 
my office as court chamberlain I hold myself in 
readiness to do whatever the princess royal of the 
fairy realm may require.” 


176 


Light Ahead. 


“Now, please be serious a minute, while I tell 
you what I want you to do.’* Then, with a quick 
and determined effort, she said, “I want you to 
please let Tony go with us to-morrow, and — and I 
want you to let him go to school in the village.” 

“ Whew-w,” whistled Uncle Ben, “ why, there are 
two favors. Do you expect me to grant them both ? 
Just imagine, here’s my fairy asking me to grant her 
a favor, and then when she has bewitched me on to 
the verge of a promise, she sees her advantage, and 
tacks another right on to the rear end of the first.” 

“Now, I’ve caught you,” she exclaimed, playfully 
shaking her finger at him with an arch look. “You 
told me that I had only to command, and you would 
obey.” 

“ So I did, fairy. Now you have got me,” he an- 
swered, putting up both hands in a deprecating man- 
ner. “Well, well, I promise. Your royal high- 
ness’s commands shall be obeyed.” Then dropping 
his light tone he asked, abruptly, “Allie, would it 
please you very much to have Tony pleased ? ” 

“ Yes, Uncle Ben,” she answered, relapsing into her 
former earnestness of manner, while the eloquent 
blood mounted to her brow. “You will forgive me, 
won’t you, but poor Tony wants to go so much, and 
he seems so forsaken — at least, I don’t mean,” she 
added, coloring again this time painfully, “ that — that 
you are not kind to him, but he hasn’t a happy home, 
you know, and good, kind parents, as Maud and I 


Light Ahead. 


177 


have, and I was thinking if he had somebody to care 
more for him, may be he might be a better boy. I 
don’t believe any of us would be very good if we 
didn’t have any body to love us and to help us to do 
right, do you ? ” 

“ I guess you’re about right,” he answered ; “ but 
why should you care whether Tony is good and 
happy, or not ? He isn't any thing to you, you know ; 
only a poor little stranger whom you never saw in 
your life until a few weeks ago.” 

“ O, but. Uncle Ben, didn’t the Saviour die for 
him just as much as for us ? and isn’t there just as 
much reason why he should be a good boy and go to 
heaven when he dies ? Why, Uncle Ben, don’t you 
remember Jesus Christ didn’t choose the rich ? You 
know his disciples were all poor men, and he preached 
to the poor people in the streets.” 

“ How do you know so much about all this, Allie ? ” 
he asked, trying to draw out her intelligent answers, 
that he might watch her sparkling eyes and the play 
of her speaking features. 

‘‘ Why,” she answered, quickly, “ I’ve read it in the 
Bible ever so many times, and it says, ‘ The common 
people heard him gladly.’ And it says, too, that he 
chooses ‘the poor of this world, rich in faith and 
heirs of the kingdom.’ O, Uncle Ben,” she said, 
again clasping the hand which in her earnestness she 
had relinquished, “You will let Tony go to school 

and learn to read his Bible, wont you ? ” 

12 


178 


Light Ahead. 


“Yes,” he answered, huskily, “if his father will 
consent. But now, as to the question of ways and 
means for to-morrow. What shall we do with the 
youngster ? ” 

“ O, you can fix that,” she replied, confidently, “ if 
you will only let him go.” 

“All right ; he shall go, to please you. Eemember, 
we’ll stow him away among the baskets.” Then re- 
suming his light tone, he said, “ As fairies don’t sub- 
sist on mortal food, there will be no danger of your 
skirmishing for supplies and so mistaking his long 
claws for a succulent morsel of frog, is there ? ” 
Before Alice had time to reply to this question 
they reached the house, where they were assailed by 
numberless inquiries as to the cause of their long stay. 
Uncle Ben, having quizzed and mystified the eager 
little group to his heart’s content, and duly notified 
them of the important acquisition to their party, they 
all scampered off to bed in high glee, to be prepared 
for the anticipated delights of the coming day. 

Making his way early the next morning to the door 
of the kitchen, where grandma was busily preparing 
baskets and pails of edibles and drinkables, Tony said, 
gruffly, without any previous salutation, 

“ Where’s that gal ? ” 

“ What girl ? ” asked grandma, “ Maud ? ” 

“ No ; t’other one, with the big eyes.” 

“O,” she replied, “You mean Allie. She hasn’t 
come down yet, Tony.” Then, seeing his disap- 


Light Ahead. 179 

pointed look, she asked, kindly, “ Did you want to 
see her ? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered, blubbering. “ She promised 
ter ax Mr. Ben ef I moughtn’t go with ’em this 
momin’, but I reckon she’s forgot all about it.” 

“ I7ot so fast, my boy,” said Uncle Ben, who had 
entered by an opposite door, just in time to hear these 
words and their piteous tone ; “ she did ask me, and 
it’s all settled. So go and make yourself presentable, 
neat and clean, mind you, old fellow, and thank Miss 
Alice for all the pleasure you enjoy.” 

“What have you there, Tony?” asked grandma, 
as she marked the quick transition from disappoint- 
ment to this sudden realization of his hopes. E-aising 
the lid of the tin kettle he held in his hand, he dis- 
played, with pardonable pride, some luscious black- 
berries with the early dew still sparkling upon them. 

“There,” he exclaimed, the pupils of his greenish 
eyes dilating as he spoke ; “ I picked ’em all for her. 
Aint they bully ? ” 

“ They are very fine,” answered grandma, smiling. 
“Allie will thank you very much, I know. Now run 
and make yourself tidy, and hurry back, so that you 
will not keep us waiting.” 

Hastily depositing his kettle upon the table, with a 
hasty “Yes ’m,” he started on a run, never stopping 
until he reached the creek, which he encountered on 
his way home, when, plunging in, he administered 
such a scrubbing as his utmost stretch of memory 


180 


Light Ahead. 


could not recall. Having performed his ablutions in 
this sylvan bath-tub, without the aid of Turkish tow- 
els or other toilet luxuries, he quickly donned such 
articles of apparel as, even to his rude ideas, were 
considered necessary, and resumed his rapid pace, 
until he landed in his mother’s kitchen, when, rush- 
ing past her to the garret — which constituted his 
sanctum — he dropped his begrimed garments, and, 
thrusting his ungainly proportions into a more re- 
spectable, because a cleaner, suit, he was just starting 
anew on his race toward Kodman’s farm, when Zeke 
came hitching along in his usual leisurely style, as 
though he thoroughly believed his own often-repeated 
saying, “O, thar aint no hurry. The world warn’t 
made in a day.” 

Seeing Tony on his break-neck race, he called out, 

“ Hello, sonny, wher be yer goin ? ” 

“ Goin’ ter the pic,” answered Tony, who believed 
in all the abbreviations possible. 

“Yer be, eh? Wal, neow, that ere’s clever. So 
be I. But, sonny, don’t run so tarnation hard ; yer 
wont have no wind left. La sakes, thar aint no 
hurry.” 

Tony, who was already far away in the distance, 
paid no attention, but hurried along, and reached 
the farm-house just as the family were sitting down 
to breakfast. 

Maud, too much excited to eat, paid flying visits to 
the kitchen, to be sure that every thing would be in 


Light Ahead. 


181 


readiness, giving but little attention to grandma’s re- 
peated injunctions to make a hearty breakfast, as she 
would be very hungry before any preparations could 
be made for luncheon. The merry flashes from Fan- 
nie’s eyes promised mischief, and indicated that she, 
at least, meant to liave a good time. 

“Well, l!^ell!” she exclaimed, with a provoking 
smile, “ if you and Alice are going to be so demure, 
you may just as well stay at home ; there’ll be no fun 
with you. Maud and I will have it all to ourselves.” 

“ Never fear. Fan,” answered Nellie, gently ; “Allie 
and I will have just as much pleasure as you and 
Maudie, with all your madcap ways. I expect to be 
kept busy watching you. It wouldn’t surprise me in 
the least to see you both splashing in the lake before 
you flnish your performances.” 

An amused smile crossed the corners of Alice’s 
mouth as Uncle Ben’s hearty “ Ha, ha ! ” broke in 
upon the good-natured reply which Fannie was about 
making to her sister’s last remark. The youngsters 
all flocked to the door to ascertain the cause of his 
merriment, where they found Zeke, in the full tide 
of his eloquence, expatiating upon the superior excel- 
lence of “ them hossesP 

“Hain’t I tolled you a hundred times them ere 
horses is ein-a-most as knowin’ as human critters? 
This mornin’, when I went fur ter give ’em their 
breakfast, bless yer heart, they knowed they was 
a-goin’ off on a scurtion^ an’ they ’mos’ tolled me so : 


182 


Light Ahead. 


they bobbed thar tails about, an’ they sniffed, an’ they 
laffed right eout, an’ flirted like they was a young gal 
an’ a young feller a-courtin’. This ere feller,” he 
continued, giving the near horse a smart slap on his 
sleek side, ‘‘jis teched me on the shoulder, jis ter 
’tract my ’tention, yer see, an’ he kep his head a-nod- 
din’, an’ his lips a-goin, till I nigh heer’d the words 
a-comin’ right eout o’ his mouth.” 

As grandma stood upon the broad piazza, to watch 
their departure, Nellie approached and said to her, 
throwing her arms around the old lady’s neck, 

‘‘ Dear grandma, I wish you were going, too ; I can’t 
bear to go and leave you all alone.” 

‘‘ O no, dear,” was the cheery reply. “ I am too 
old to go so far. My poor old body would give out 
before we got half way ; but I like to see young peo- 
ple enjoy themselves, and so I enjoy your pleasure, 
and it becomes mine. Your bright faces and fresh 
young voices are very pleasant to me, Nellie, dear.” 

“ O, grandma,” said a soft voice, as a slender little 
hand crept into the wrinkled one which was hanging 
by her side, “ I am afraid you will be lonely ; please 
let me stay with you.” 

“No, no, darling,” she answered, as she passed her 
free hand lightly over Alice’s long, dark hair; “that 
would never do. Don’t you know,” she added, as she 
lifted the earnest face, “ that Uncle Ben planned this 
excursion almost entirely for you, because you had 
never seen the lake ? and what do you think he would 


Light Ahead. 


183 


say if you stayed at home to amuse an old woman, 
when you ought to be off wandering in the woods and 
rowing on the lake ? ” 

“Why, grandma,” she answered, innocently, “I 
don’t think Uncle Ben would mind one bit if I stayed 
at home to amuse his mother, because, you know, he 
always likes to see you happy, and I am so afraid you 
will be lonely,” repeated the little pleader. “Wont 
you, grandma ? ” 

“ 1^0, my dear little girl. You know I am used to 
being alone ; but I am never lonely with my Bible 
and my closet. You know, Allie, dear, the Saviour 
is always near us, and we need never have a lonely 
moment. So go, both of you, my darlings, and don’t 
let the thought of grandma make you sad. May you 
have a happy as well as a merry day ! ” 

“ Grandma, what makes you say that ? ” asked 'Nel- 
lie, smiling. “If we’re merry we shall be happy, 
sha’n’t we?” 

“Hot necessarily, Hellie, by any means. Merriment 
is a flow of spirits which may be assumed for the oc- 
casion, and may cover a very sad heart, while happi- 
ness springs flrst from a Arm and unquestioning faith 
in God, and then from a reasonable and sensible de- 
sire to be contented just where God has placed us, and 
to make the best of all events and circumstances.” 

“I always think,” rejoined Hellie, “when I hear 
people laugh and talk a great deal, that they must be 
very happy.” 


184 


Light Ahead. 


“ That is a very natural mistake for you to make, 
dear — ^the mistake of a young mind which has had 
but little experience in the world — a mistake which 
is often made by people much older than you.” 

“ Don’t you think people ought always to be cheer- 
ful, grandma ? ” asked Alice. 

“ Without doubt, my dear ; but this excessive gay- 
ety which we sometimes see and hear is not a healthy 
condition of the mind. It is but a feverish outburst, 
and, like a glass of sparkling champagne after the 
effervescence has passed away, it becomes dull and 
flat. True cheerfulness is calm, serene, and undis- 
turbed by trifles, because built upon a sure founda- 
tion.” 

Here Uncle Ben’s sonorous “All aboard!” sum- 
moned them from grandma’s side to join the pleas- 
ure-seekers, and her gentle tones were soon lost in 
the motley chorus which followed. The stately family 
carriage, with its shining horses, having received its 
burden, a long, low farm wagon made its appearance, 
drawn by a stout span of iron grays, whose powerful 
proportions proclaimed them also of iron strength, 
and fully equal to any demand that might be made 
upon their powers of endurance. Sundry baskets, 
pails, kettles, etc., eminently suggestive of good 
cheer, were artistically packed in the hinder part of 
the wagon in such a manner as to leave abundant 
room for the cargo of bounding young hearts waiting 
to be transported thereto. 


Light Ahead. 


185 


Tony was placed on guard in tlie provision depart- 
ment to see that no frisky basket or pail should take 
it into its demented head to drop out, thus depriving 
the excursionists of a portion of their sumptuous re- 
past. The four girls were frisked up by Uncle Ben’s 
strong arms and deposited upon a quantity of clean, 
fresh, sweet-smelling hay, which afforded them a soft 
and fragrant seat as well as much fun at such a novel 
mode of transportation. 

As Zeke was a factotum who considered himself 
entitled to have a finger in every pie compounded in 
that establishment, of course so momentous an occa- 
sion as the present could not be allowed to pass 
without his valuable assistance. He would have con- 
sidered those aristocratic quadrupeds, upon whose 
perfections he so eloquently descanted, on the high 
road to destruction without his protection and fos- 
tering care. Uncle Ben mounted the driver’s seat 
beside Zeke, and the cavalcade moved forward amid 
the fiow of merry words and the rippling of joyous 
laughter. 

A brisk, chirruping sound from Uncle Ben gave 
the horses fresh impetus, and, throwing back their 
heads, they started at a lively pace. 

“Can’t afford to spend the cool of the morning 
dawdling, old fellow,” said Uncle Ben, shaking the 
rein of the farther horse. “ Wait till the sun gets 
up a little higher before you take it easy.” 

“ By Joe ! ” exclaimed Zeke, as the crack of a rifle 


186 Light Ahead. 

fell on his ear, somebody’s arter the birds airly this 
mornin’.” 

“Ah, ha! after the woodcock, are they? Well, 
we’re willing they should have their fun, aren’t 
we ? ” asked Uncle Ben, turning around and slyly 
pulling one of Alice’s long locks. “We’re in pur- 
suit of ours, you know.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “only it seems so cruel to 
shoot the poor little birds.” 

“ Every body don’t feel as you do, Allie, and birds 
are tender, succulent eating; then the pleasure of 
shooting goes a long way in its favor.” 

“I can’t see,” said Nellie, “what pleasure there 
can be in harming so innocent a thing as a bird. 
Poor little, defenseless creatures, they do no harm.” 

“ That’s so. Miss Nellie,” said Zeke, thoughtfully ; 
but, la sakes, you never used a rifle ; you don’t know 
nothin’ heow kinder fascinatin’ it is.” 

“ Zeke is about half right,” said Uncle Ben, smil- 
ing ; “ there is always more or less excitement about 
these things which, for the time, overcomes our pity 
for the little feathered creatures that find a home in 
the forest.” 

“You are growing poetical. Uncle Ben,” said 
Nellie. 

“ Yes,” he answered. “ You didn’t know I was a 
poet, did you, Nellie ? I shall surprise you some day 
with a sonnet to a woodlark, or an elegy on a dead 
mocking bird.” 


Light Ahead. 


187 


“ Do,” she replied. “ I should be delighted to read 
your poems.” 

The dim yellow haze which had enveloped the 
earth in the early morning, now gradually lifted, 
and, floating in vapory clouds, sailed far, far away, 
until it became lost in the blue ether. Their road 
lay for some miles through an open, level tract of 
country, over which, as far as the eye could reach, 
might be seen vast flelds of billowy, waving grain, 
which were already whitened for the harvest, and 
about to be gathered into the garner. Skirting the 
road on both sides were tall, noble trees of maple, 
oak, and horse-chestnut, while a thick undergrowth 
of alders and the flaunting sumach formed a thick 
hedge, almost concealing the neat fences which abound 
in that flourishing part of the Empire State. 

Presently they entered a sheltered district, whose 
numerous trees of umbrageous growth formed almost 
a forest, so dense was its shade. 

A general exclamation of delight burst from the 
little girls as they entered this grateful retreat from 
the sun, whose rays were already becoming uncom- 
fortably warm. Even the horses seemed sensible of 
and grateful for the shade and coolness, as, throwing 
back their heads, they sniffed the fresh morning air. 

Come, girls,” said Uncle Ben, turning suddenly 
round, follow the example of your mute teachers. 
Did you see these eminently intelligent quadrupeds 
fortifying themselves by inhaling long draughts of 


188 


Light Ahead. 


this sweet, pure air? Throw hack your shoulders 
and inflate your lungs with nature’s tonic. Better 
than all the drugs and bitters. Isn’t that so, Zeke ? ” 
he asked, with a mischievous glance behind him. 

“Wal, Mr. Ben, I should say as heow ’twas. La 
sakes, doctor stuff aint worth nothin’. Why, Polly, 
she was sick, yer know, an’ I gin her a hull bottle of 
them bitters what they sell over ter the store, an’, 
bless yer heart, I thought ther wouldn’t ha’ bin noth- 
in’ left o’ her.” 

“You ought to have given her another bottle, 
Zeke. ITever be stingy to your wife, especially when 
she’s sick.” 

“ Wal, neow, mebbe 1 had ought ter gin her more. 
Wal, I’ll know better next time. Mister Ben.” 



CHAPTER XII. 


T he peculiar resinous odor exhaled from the pines 
breathed over each of our little party a sense of 
rest and refreshment, and almost made them wish to 
spend the day in their grateful shade and fragrance, 
rather than to proceed on their projected trip. 

“ O, Uncle Ben ! ” exclaimed Fannie, please let 
us get out and walk around a little. My limbs have 
been drawn up at acute angles so long that I don’t 
believe I shall ever straighten them out. Besides, I 
want to find some cones. I shall make some aston- 
ished picture-frames when I get back to Boston, in 
commemoration of this delectable place.” 

“ With all my heart. Fan,” he answered, “ if so be 
the occupants of yonder vehicle agree thereto ; but if 
the pangs of hunger should seize upon them before 
we overtake them, they may anathematize us in no 
measured terms. You see, Fan, as we have charge of 
the commissariat department, they are at our mercy.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he raised his hand, 
trumpet fashion, and shouted, 

“ Ahoy, there ! ” 

The occupants of the carriage paying no attention, 
he repeated his call, when Mr. Morrison thrust his 
head out of the window, and responded. 


190 


Light Ahead. 


“ Aye, aye, sir.’’ 

Uncle Ben walked up to the carriage, and, with a 
profound bow, said, 

“ I am the bearer of dispatches from yonder bevy 
of fair damsels to the occupants of this stately equi- 
page, to ascertain if it be agreeable to them to alight 
therefrom, and while away some of the precious mo- 
ments in the search for ferns, cones, and such other 
productions of a wooded region as romantic young 
ladies dehght in, as well as to inhale the piney aroma 
of this most odoriferous spot.” 

“ Ha, ha, Ben,” laughed Mr. Morrison, “ you are a 
most magniloquent envoy truly. Pity your services 
could not be secured by the government as Minister 
to England, or some other foreign power. You 
would, undoubtedly, settle all disputed questions 
most amicably, and convince every body that we are 
the greatest and most invincible nation on this round 
globe.” 

“Wouldn’t I, though! I should secure for the 
glorious stars and stripes greater homage and lower 
obeisances than they ever have received before. I 
say, Ned, couldn’t you manage to publish abroad my 
extraordinary diplomatic powers ? ” 

“ Use your unbounded influence for him, Ned,” in- 
terrupted Mr. Ormsbee, “ and we shall have la belle 
Parisienne or some dark-eyed senorita for a sister-in- 
law.” 

“ Never fear, Fred ; no dark-eyed foreigners for 


Light Ahead. 


191 


me. I select from my own country-women, or not 
at all. But,” lie continued, with an astonishing how, 
salam^ rather, to the ladies, “ am I to be the bearer 
of your gracious permission to the young ladies, to 
revel in cones and ferns to their heart’s content ? ” 

“ O, Ben ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ormsbee, “ do come 
down from your stilts and talk sense. What time is 

itr> 

“ It now,” he replied, looking at his watch, lacks 
two full hours of the sun’s meridian.” 

“ Hold on, Ben I ” interrupted Mr. Morrison ; “ I’m 
struck.” 

“ Struck ! ” repeated Ben, holding up both hands 
and advancing a step in a serio-comic manner. 

“ Yes,” replied Mr. Morrison, “ I am actually 
struck with an idea — a most unusual circumstance 
with me, I assure you. I don’t wonder you are hor- 
rified, Ben.” 

“ Did ever any one see- two such absurdities in the 
guise of grown men ? ” asked Mrs. Morrison, laugh- 
ing heartily in her turn. Fred is the only sensible 
one among you.” 

This shot was too much for Mr. Ormsbee’s risibles, 
and, with a hearty “ ha, ha,” he exclaimed, 

“ How, Annie, you have aroused the lion in his 
lair. I have been holding back as a sort of reserve 
in case those two vetarans should run short of am- 
munition. I will try, however, to keep myself with- 
in due bounds.” 


192 


Light Ahead. 


“ Yes, Annie,” put in Mrs. Ormsbee, “ that was an 
unlucky hit of yours. There would have been some 
chance for your peace if you had utterly ignored 
Fred. As it is, I cannot answer for it. I am glad, 
however, that he has the grace to acknowledge his 
peace-destroying proclivities.” 

plead guilty to an act of indiscretion,” an- 
swered Mrs. Morrison. “ I entertain most acute and 
vivid recollections of sundry inveterate teasings ad- 
ministered by the aforesaid young gentleman in the 
days when ‘ he did courting go,’ and my gentle sister 
Mary was the cynosure of his existence.” 

“O, Annie!” exclaimed the gentleman in ques- 
tion, in deprecating tones, and with a look of mock 
pleading on his handsome face, “how could you as- 
sail my youthful modesty in this most unprecedented 
manner ? ” 

“Who is grandiloquent now, I w’onder?” inter- 
rupted Ben. “ It is my turn to say, ‘ Descend from 
your stilts.’ Attend to practicalities now, good peo- 
ple. I, as embassador, demand an answer forthwith, 
jpro or cm^ to the question now pending, ‘ Shall the 
young ladies be granted the indulgence they crave, or 
shall they not ? ’ ” 

“All this time,” said Mr. Morrison, with a most 
humorous expression of injured innocence, “ you have 
been ignoring the fact of my having been struck, se- 
riously struck, mind you, and my idea is struggling 
to develop itself into an intelligent expression.” 


Light Ahead. 


193 


Out with it, old fellow,” said Ben, giving him 
two or three hearty slaps on the back. “ Mayhap it 
will prove all the more vigorous for its slow and 
painful development. Give it a fair chance, and it 
will soon attain its full growth.” 

“ Thank you, Ben. I feel quite equal now to the 
task of evolving my idea, which, I have no doubt, 
will prove sufficiently lucid to be grasped by even 
the intellects of my auditors.” 

“ Hear ! hear ! ” shouted Ben. 

“ How, then,” proceeded Mr. Morrison, I propose 
that the male portion of our most select and delight- 
ful party avail themselves of the piscatorial sport 
promised us by our respected brother-in-law, and 
draw from the babbling brook, which, he assures us, 
if my recollection serves me right, is en route to the 
lake, the golden, speckled trout, which will afEord so 
welcome and sumptuous an addition to the bill of 
fare already provided.” 

“ Capital ! ” exclaimed Mr. Ormsbee. “ Hed, your 
idea is luminous. Proceed to eliminate it still fur- 
ther, that our dull brains may grasp it in all its 
bearings.” 

With a condescending nod and majestic wave of 
the hand, as if to say, “ Interrupt me not,” he pro- 
ceeded : 

“ The fairer and weaker portion of the party can 
remain here and follow their proclivities in the way 
of ferns, cones, etc., while we heroically prepare to 


194 


Light Ahead. 


contribute to the delectation of their fastidious pal- 
ates. The quadrupeds can remain, also, and indulge 
in the tender, succulent grass, while we exercise our 
nether extremities in reaching the aforesaid brook, 
which, if mj topography is not at fault, lies within 
easy distance.” 

But, ]N^ed,” asked Mrs. Morrison, “ shall we have 
time for all the programme? Yon know preparing 
and cooking the fish will consume some time, and we 
should be sorry to lose our anticipated enjoyment of 
the lake.” 

“ Plenty of time,” he answered, gravely, “ always 
taking into consideration the fact that they have 
to be caught before they can be subjected to the 
process of cooking. Even allowing for the fiirting 
propensities of the brilliant little creatures, we hope 
to capture enough of them to give you ladies a fair 
opportunity to display your accomplishments in the 
culinary line.” 

The three gentlemen, armed with fishing-rods, 
lines, and hooks, were soon making their way with 
rapid strides to the brook in whose sparkling waters 
the little finny tribe were sporting in happy uncon- 
sciousness of the impending danger. 

Meanwhile the soft summer air was soon ringing 
with merry voices, whose owners were busily explor- 
ing the heart of the lovely sylvan retreat. Lofty 
deciduous trees of many years’ growth cast soft in- 
terchanges of light and shade, while evergreens of 


Light Ahead. 


195 


trim, cone-like form, lent that charm of variety of 
which J^’ature in her landscapes is always so affluent. 
Parasitic plants of polished leaf and graceful, cling- 
ing tendrils festooned many a lordly oak, forming 
screens of light and delicate tracery, which were now 
reproduced by the glinting sunlight upon the soft, 
mossy ground, and now obscured by the closing of 
the swaying branches. 

Poor Tony had been a silent observer of all that 
was passing, and occasionally his grim visage relaxed 
into something resembling a smile. Now, however, 
that they were all released from the restraints im- 
posed upon them by their close riding quarters, and 
were wandering at will among the thick shrubs and 
taller trees, his eyes followed Alice with a sort of 
timid, half-worshiping expression, as though she were 
a being from a higher sphere. There is in every 
human heart, however low in the scale of humanity, 
a respect, an admiration, unconscious, or nearly so, it 
may be, for that which is pure and lovely. A feel- 
ing which, in some natures, it may be, engenders 
petty jealousies and outward manifestations of dis- 
like, but which after all compels an inward acknowl- 
edgment of superiority. Such was the feeling which, 
unanalyzed, and not at all understood by Tony, was 
still the mainspring of his unwonted kindness to 
Alice. Young as he was, and all uncultured and un- 
couth, her gentleness and purity of character had won 
him as none other ever could. 


196 


Light Ahead. 


It is just as natural in the moral world for like to 
seek like, for congenial natures to be attracted toward 
each other, as it is in the physical world for oil to 
repel water, or the magnet to attract steel, and hence 
we find this principle constantly exemplified. That 
subtile, indefinable influence which draws together 
two persons of corresponding mind and feeling, often 
in spite of outward incongruities, is one of the most 
powerful impelling forces of the human mind. Thus 
we find that, although Maud and Alice still continued 
the firmest of friends, and Maud would have waged 
a vigorous war of words in defense of her friend, yet 
between the latter and Ilellie existed a still closer tie 
by reason of a closer similarity of mind. 

Walking leisurely along, the two friends soon dis- 
covered a rustic seat, formed by the gnarled trunk of 
a tree, which afforded ample accommodation for the 
two slight figures. Sitting here in delicious idle- 
ness, enjoying the soft air, laden with its woody 
perfume, Nellie exclaimed, as she leaned into a 
crook, which formed a cozy, comfortable resting- 
place, 

“ O what a lovely spot for a nap ! This soft air 
makes me sleepy.” 

“ I am not sleepy,” replied Alice ; “ but it seems 
to me that I should like to have such a dream as 
J acob had, and see the angels coming and going. O, 
Nellie, wouldn’t it be nice to go to heaven from 
here ! It is so sweet and quiet.” 


Light Ahead. 


197 


Sh-h,” said Kellie, raising her finger ; some- 
body’s coming.” 

They heard a footstep approaching, crushing in its 
tread the dried leaves and the dark, moist soil. Soon 
Tony’s awkward form appeared in sight, bearing in 
his hand a clump of graceful, feathery ferns, of the 
most tender, delicate green. Approaching Alice with 
a sheepish look, he extended his offering in the most 
awkward manner, and, with the single word “ here,” 
uttered in his gruffest tone, he began to beat a hasty 
retreat. 

“ O, Tony,” called Kellie, “where did you get these 
lovely ferns ? ” 

“ Deown thar,” he answered, laconically, pointing 
to an opening in the trees. 

“ Are there any more there ? ” she asked. 

“Yes, lots on ’em,” he replied, with a slight de- 
crease of the coarseness of his usual manner. 

Kot waiting to hear more, Kellie bounded away in 
search of her feathery treasures, and was soon out of 
sight. 

“ Thank you, Tony, for my ferns,” said Alice ; “ O 
yes, and for the blackberries. I haven’t eaten any of 
them yet, but they look beautiful. When did you 
gather them ? ” 

“ ’S mornin,” answered he, sheepishly, as he stood 
digging the toe of his well-worn shoe, which he had 
taken the uttermost pains to make presentable, into 
the soft soil. 


198 


Light Ahead. 


“Tony,” asked Alice, as she looke^ with admiring 
eyes at the graceful cluster she still held in her hand, 
“ do you know who made these ? ” 

“ S’pose they growed,” he answered, venturing to 
look her in the face an instant. 

“ They grew, of course ; but God made them grow.” 

Looking at her for a moment, with a puzzled ex- 
pression, he asked, “ Is that ther man wot yer tolled 
me died, cos we was so wicked ? ” 

“ISTot a man, Tony,” she answered, wondering at 
his total ignorance of things which had been familiar 
with her from her earliest childhood. 

“Not a man,” she repeated, slowly and reverentially. 
“ That was the Lord Jesus Christ. He was God and 
man too.” 

Here Tony’s stolid visage actually brightened with 
the unaccustomed exercise of thinking, and looking 
at her with a gleam almost of intelligence in his dull 
eye, he said, 

“ Couldn’t be two things ter onct.” 

“ I don’t know how it is,” replied Alice, distressed 
at her inability to explain a doctrine which has puz- 
zled older and wiser heads than hers ever since the 
great tragedy was enacted on Calvary. “ I can’t tell 
you,” she continued, “ how it is ; but 1 know it is so, 
because the Bible says so.” 

“ The Bible ? What’s that ? ” asked Tony. 

“Why!” answered Alice, becoming more and more 
shocked, as this little heathen manifested still greater 


Light Ahead. 


199 


depths of ignorance, the Bible is the book that tells 
US all about God. It is God’s book. Did you never 
see a Bible, Tony ? ” 

“ Guess that must ’av been what Mr. Ben gin tlie 
ole man ; but it hadn’t no picters inter it, an’ so I 
didn’t care nothin’ abeout it.” 

“O, Tony, I wish you would learn to read it, 
because it tells us all about Jesus Christ, how he 
died to save us ; and then we know it’s true, because 
God says so. Things that we read in other books 
may not be true, but we can believe every word 
of this.” 

Here was an indorsement from childish lips of 
every statement which bears the stamp, “ Thus saith 
the Lord.” Ho cavilings, no reasonings, but a simple 
acceptance of the doctrine of the atonement, because 
it is set forth in God’s word as the one hope of the 
guilty, the sheet-anchor to which the despairing soul 
may cling, and never be swept away by the raging 
billows of temptation. 

As Alice was uttering. the last sentence, Hellie re- 
tm-ned, having found the ferns she sought, and the 
two were almost immediately joined by Fannie and 
Maud, who had gathered quite a collection of ferns, 
cones, and acorns, with the two latter of which they 
expressed a determination to make the most wonder- 
ful fancy articles that their ingenuity could devise. 

Hellie, having heard Alice’s last remark, turned to 
Tony, saying, 


200 


Light Ahead. 


Why don’t you go to school, Tony, and learn to 
read ? ” 

Cos,” he replied, shortly. 

“ But that is no reason,” said Fannie. 

“ Don’t you want to go, Tony ? ” asked Alice. 

“ Beckon the old man wouldn’t let me,” he answered, 
again digging his toes into the ground. 

“ Why not ? ” asked Nellie, gently. 

“ Cos,” he answered again. 

“ But,” persisted Fannie, “ that is no reason. Why 
do you think he wouldn’t let you go ? ” 

He made no reply, but continued industriously 
working his toes into the ground, occasionally casting 
furtive glances at one and another of the group, until 
Alice said, 

“ I think your father would let you go, if you asked 
him, Tony.” 

“ No,” he said, quickly, “ cos he wants me ter dig 
taters, an’ pick up chips, an’, — an’ do chores.” 

“Well, but you could do those things after school,” 
said Fannie. 

“Suppose we go and ask him now,” suggested 
Maud, who was always eager to put into execution 
any idea which seized her at the moment. “ I know 
where he is. I saw him lying down on the grass 
under a tree just over here.” 

Without further consultation the four girls started 
on their mission, Tony following at a laggard pace. 
If the truth must be told, he had but small literary 


Light Ahead. 


201 


ambition, and would much rather, under pretense of 
digging potatoes, or picking chips, stretch himself at 
full length on the tall grass, or hide away where the 
heavy waving grain would shield him from the eyes 
of those who would summon him to his tasks. 

Their ears were soon greeted by the sound of sten- 
torian snoring, and their eyes by the sight of Zeke’s 
lengthy proportions extended upon the ground, the 
arms thrown up over the head, and an old straw hat 
drawn down over the eyes. Zeke had an eye for com- 
fort, when he selected his mossy couch, which was 
soft and fragrant with the breath of many odors, while 
the branches of a wide-spreading oak afforded ample 
protection from the bright rays of the sun, which was 
now approaching its meridian. 

The crackling of the dry leaves and twigs under 
their quick, elastic tread, and the merry sound of 
fresh young voices, recalled him from dreamland. 
Tossing off the hat and rising to a sitting posture, he 
tried to cast off all traces of the close embrace in 
which Morpheus had so recently held him. 

“ Well, Zeke,” said Fannie, “did you have a good 
nap ? ” 

“ITap!” answered he, with as much astonishment 
as he could concentote into his tone ; “ O no. Miss 
Fannie, I haint ben ter sleep.” 

“ Why, Zeke ! ” exclaimed outspoken Maud, “ you 
must have been asleep, for we heard you snoring ever 
so far off.” 


202 


Light Ahead. 


“ 0 no, Miss Maud, that was the wind a-makin’ a 
noise in the trees, kinder sighin’, yer know. La sakes ! 
I liaint ben ter sleep ; I bin kinder speckerlatin’. This 
is a good place ter speckerlate in. Miss Maud ; thar 
aint no noises to extract yer thoughts.” 

“ What have you been speculating about ? ” asked 
Fannie. 

“ Wal, I ben sorter speckerlatin’ abeout the ways of 
God with us poor critters. Neow, here I am; wonder 
what he made me fur ! ” 

“ Made you to glorify him, and to go to heaven and 
be happy when you die,” answered Maud. “ Don’t 
you know what the Catechism says ? ” 

“ Yes ; but, la sakes ! I aint got nothin’ to glorify 
him with. I can’t do no good. I aint got no money. 
More’ll I can do ter take care o’ myself, an’ Polly, 
an’ the youngsters, ’thout try in’ ter do nothin’ more.” 

“Well,” said Maud, “I’ve heard papa say that we 
glorify God just in that way, by doing our every-day 
duties well and faithfully, just because that is what 
he means for us to do. Papa says that we needn’t 
try to do any great things that we really haven’t the 
means for ; but that if we do the smallest and meanest 
things, because then that is whafc God has given us to 
do, and do them to please him, that is all he expects 
of us.” 

“Wal, I never thought o’ that afore. Miss Maud. 
I alius thought I couldn’t do nothin’, ’cause I’m so 
poor, an’ aint got nothin’ ter do with. I thought 


Light Ahead. 


203 


glorifyin’ God meant ter do some big thing fur him, 
buildin’ a church, or givin’ a lot o’ money, or some- 
thin’ like that ere.” 

“ Papa would tell you that is all a mistake,” re- 
plied Maud, earnestly. ‘‘ I know he would, because 
I asked him once what it meant, when I was study- 
ing my Sunday-school lesson, and that is what he 
told me.” 

“ Wal, mebbe so,” answered Zeke, passing his hand 
over his furrowed brow with a meditative gesture; 
“ mebbe so. I dunno ; I aint very lamed in Scripter.” 

“ Now, Zeke,” said Nellie, “ here is a good chance 
for you to begin to act on Maud’s explanation. We 
want you to make us a promise. Will you ? ” 

‘‘Make yer a promise, Miss Nellie? Sartain I will 
ef I kin.” 

“Well, you can, and if you promise what we want 
you to it may be the beginning of great good. Zeke, 
will you let Tony go to school and learn to read ? ” 

“La sakes, now. Miss Nellie! You don’t say as 
how that’s what yer goin’ fer ter ax me. Heow kin 
I spare the critter? Yer see. Miss Nellie, I want 
him fer ter do the chores.” 

“ O, well,” answered Nellie, “ he can go to school, 
and do the chores afterward. Plenty of time after 
school hours for that.” 

“ I don’t see heow I kin afford ter let him go,” 
said Zeke, vainly trying to conceal the satisfaction 
which twinked in his eyes. The fact was, his pride 


204 


Light Ahead 


was gratified beyond measure by the interest which 
these city girls manifested in his boy ; for were they 
not the nieces of his employer? and Zeke held 
Uncle Ben in the highest respect and reverence. 
This mask of unwillingness was drawn on to conceal 
the real pleasure which this simple act of kindness 
had awakened in his breast. He was like a great 
many others of the human family who take infinite 
pains to hide under the veil of indifference, some- 
times couching in terms of strong disapprobation, 
feelings whose manifestation would do them credit. 

“ Afford it ! ” exclaimed Maud, quickly, in reply to 
Zeke’s remark. “ Why, it wont cost you any thing. 
He can go to the district school.” 

“ Deestrict school ! Wal, yes,” he continued, scratch- 
ing his head, as though in the endeavor to arouse the 
dormant ideas. “ He might go ter the deestrict school, 
but, la sakes. Miss Maud, ’twouldn’t be no use, my 
eddication haint done nothin’ for me. My old mother, 
she was detarmined I shud be eddicated, but all my 
lamin’ haint never done me no good. Yer see whar 
I be neow, and I’d be jist as well off ef I didn’t 
kneow nothin.” 

“ But, Zeke,” put in Alice, if Tony went to 
school, he could learn to read about things that we 
have been talking of, how to glorify God and grow 
up to be a good man, and go to heaven when he 
dies.” 

Yes, yes, Miss Alice, but ’taint every man as hes 


Light Ahead. 


205 


book learnin’ that ever larns them things. Howsum- 
ever, I dmino, but I’d jist as lief he’d go, on’y what 
’ill Mr. Ben say about it. You know we’re a-workin’ 
for him, Tony an’ me is.” 

“ O Uncle Ben is willing, and here he comes to speak 
for himself,” exclaimed Maud, as the three gentle- 
men appeared in sight, each one bearing the trophies 
of his piscatorial conquest, achieved in the short 
space of two hours. Uncle Ben, upon being appealed 
to, readily granted his consent, so that the whole 
weighty matter was speedily decided in the affirma- 
tive, the vote being unanimous. The only dissenting 
voice, that of Zeke, had been induced to concur with 
the majority, a concession which, in his heart, he was 
only too ready to make. 

The whole party immediately instituted a search 
for the ladies, who were soon found, to whom the 
fifty or more shining little captives were triumph- 
antly displayed. 

“I^’ow,” said Ben, “we’ve earned our dinner. If 
I was never hungry in my life before, I am unmis- 
takably so now, and I want to enjoy my prize. 
Come, all hands! Let’s have a fire. Here, Tony! 
Where is the young scapegrace?” he asked, looking 
in all directions. 

The woods were soon ringing with shouts of 
“ Tony ! Tony ! ” A chorus of voices, from the deep, 
stentorian base of Ben and his associates, to the clear 
soprano of Hellie and Alice, called in vain. Ho 


206 


Light Ahead. 


Tony appeared, that young gentleman having taken 
himself off, during the discussion which terminated 
in the decision that he should commence the ascent 
of the hill of knowledge, and ultimately pluck the 
intellectual fruits which crown its summit. He 
now lay at full length^ upon the ground, behind a 
clump of alders which effectually screened him from 
observation on one side, but he was in actual dread 
lest some of the four pairs of busy young feet 
should stray around to the other side, which was ut- 
terly unprotected from the inquiring eye. He knew 
that the woods were vocal with his name, but he 
paid no attention, and, as the sound died away, he 
fell into a deep slumber. 

Finding Tony unavailable, they bestirred them- 
selves, and soon collected a huge pile of fagots and 
dry leaves, which was soon kindled into a merry 
sparkling, crackling blaze, sufficient to prepare an 
entertainment for a much larger party. 

“ These ere fish owes you a grudge, Mr. Ben,” said 
Zeke, as he proceeded with the work of preparing 
them for cooking. They owes you a grudge fer 
takin’ of ’em out o’ the cool water.” 

“ Then you think they wont like spluttering in the 
fire, eh, Zeke ? ” 

“Why, no. La sakes, these critters likes water 
better’n fire, a great sight, an’ ef they could talk, 
they’d make yer understand it. Heow yer kin take 
my word fer it.” 


Light Ahead. 


207 


“Why, Zeke, isn’t one element as good as an- 
other ? ” asked Ben, with a quick glance behind 
him, where Mr. Morrison was reclining, engaged in 
smoking a segar. He might have been in better 
business. 

“ W al, ye’d better jest try it, that’s all I’ve got ter 
say, an’ see ef yer like to be a sizzlin’ over the fire 
as well as ter be splashin’ in the creek ter hum. 
That’s all I’ve got ter say.” 

“Why, Zeke,” said Mr. Morrison, puifing away, 
“fire is a mighty comfortable thing, and you know 
the Bible tells us it is a purifier as well. It speaks 
of having the gold of our hearts purified by fire, 
until all the dross is consumed, and only the pure 
gold remains.” 

“Wal, I dunno nothin’ about that, but yer don’t 
want ter hold yer hand inter it mor’n an hour, I 
reckon ; ef yer did, yer’d be a bigger f ool’n I take 
yer to be. That’s all I got ter say.” 

Having finished the fish, he shambled off in pur- 
suit of a frying-pan, and having deposited them 
therein and placed them on a fine bed of coals await- 
ing their reception, they were soon “ sizzlin’ ” over 
the element he so much depreciated. A snowy 
cloth was spread upon the ground, laden with such 
delicacies as might have tempted appetites much 
more fastidious than were theirs. Indeed, they were 
all in good condition to enjoy grandma’s sandwiches, 
roast chickens, cold meats, golden custards, and de- 


208 


Light Ahead. 


licious pies and cakes, to say nothing of the feast pro- 
vided by Uncle Ben and his compeers. A tea-kettle 
was among the articles with which they had provided 
themselves, and was now hissing upon the coals, 
wlule cups of the refreshing beverage were distrib- 
uted to those who were addicted to its use. A merry 
party gathered, and, seated on the soft moss, a spint 
of innocent enjoyment was rife among the elders as 
well as among the juvenile members of it. The bright 
joyous sunshine glinted among the quivering leaves 
in the tree-tops above their heads, casting a quaint 
and graceful tracing upon faces and figures, as well 
as over the shining damask upon which lay the plen- 
tiful repast. 

Zeke, having seated himself at a respectful dis- 
tance, was soon bountifully supplied, when Maud, 
having discovered that Tony was still missing, gave 
the initiatory to another peal of voices which re- 
sounded until the “ dim woods rang.” 

Tony had by this time awaked from his nap, and 
being sensible that he was sought for, as well as 
urged by very decided gnawings of hunger, thought 
best to render himself visible to mortal sight. Then, 
too, the thought presented itself to his mind, that if 
he persisted in remaining a recluse, they might pos- 
sibly give up the search for him, and pursue the re- 
mainder of their trip without his valuable society. 
The idea of spending a night in the woods did not 
present a pleasant prospect. Bears, wolves, and all 


Light Ahead. 


209 


forms of hobgoblins, of which his very limited knowl- 
edge gave him any dread, were present to his, at 
other times, sluggish imagination ; so, all things con- 
sidered, he drew together his loose joints, and giving 
his pants a hitch, he was soon in the presence of the 
assembled group. 

“ Well, Tony,” said Ben, in a tone of good-natured 
raillery, “ we thought you had become food for the 
birds by this time.” 

‘‘No danger,” said Zeke, “birds likes sweet mor- 
sels, birds does. You wont cotch them a eatin’ 
nothin’ wot aint sweet an tender, Mr. Ben. But 
whar yer bin, sonnie ? Aint seen nothin’ o’ yer this 
long time.” 

Tony stood in his favorite attitude, his eyes cast 
down, fingers in his mouth, digging his toes into 
the ground — ^literally into the ground this time, for 
by industrious digging or boring, or by whatever 
name he chose to dignify his occupation, he had 
made an aperture through which his toes sought con- 
tact with the element upon which he stood. 

“ Of course, Tony,” rejoined Ben, with his teasing 
manner, “you don’t require any food. You and the 
birds have been having a banquet. Most probably 
feasting on the wing of a musquito, or the leg of a 
fiy. With which delicate morsel have you regaled 
yourself ? ” 

“ O, Ben ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Morrison, “ you are too 
ridiculous. Do give the child something to eat, and 
14 


210 Light Ahead. 

be quick about it, too, or we shall have no time for 
the lake.” 

Kever fear, Annie,” he answered ; “ the lake will 
keep, depend upon it. Wouldn’t run away from such 
illustrious visitors on any consideration. Couldn’t 
hire it to miss such a pleasure as receiving us upon 
its broad bosom. Now, Tony, fall too. Never mind 
chewing the bones, they will aid digestion.” 

The remains of the feast were soon collected, the 
utensils employed in its preparation packed, seats re- 
sumed, and our friends were again on their way. The 
open fields, across which sunlight and shadow quickly 
followed each other, were smiling around them, 
while their route lay along a sheltered road over- 
arched by thick shade-trees, through whose cluster- 
ing foliage the sun scintillated little patches and 
flecks of gold, glorifying every object upon which it 
rested. 

Far away between them and the eastern horizon 
rose bank after bank of graceful, undulating hills, the 
purple haze which rested upon their summits giving 
an indescribable charm of variety to the lively land- 
scape which lay stretched out before them. Through 
mile after mile of this peaceful, quiet country they 
drove until, at last, the blue waters of the lake burst 
upon their quickly fascinated gaze. 



TTERE they come ! Here they come ! ” ex- 
JLl. claimed Maud, as she stood on the broad 
piazza of the hotel, awaiting the appearance of the 
little craft which her father and uncle had gone to 
procure. A neat, trim little yacht was lying at the 
landing with the national colors floating on the wind 
and streamers and ribbons flying. Uncle Ben was 
standing on the dock, waving his hat, his chestnut 
curls in becoming disorder, his blue eyes twinkling 
with the spirit of mischief; altogether forming a 
picture which was not quickly forgotten by his com- 
panions. They were all soon comfortably disposed 
of, the boat loosened from its moorings, and the long 
anticipated part of the day’s pleasure commenced. 

“ O, see 1 ” exclaimed Maud, looking around her 
in an ecstasy of delighted wonder, and dipping her 
hand over the side of the boat. See, how blue the 
water is. Is it blue all the way down to the bottom, 
papa ? ” 

“ Ho,” answered Mr. Morrison. “ If you were to 
dip up a glass full of the water you would find it 
colorless, as water always is in its pure state.” 

‘‘ What makes it blue, then ? ” she asked, with per- 
sistent curiosity. 


212 


Light Ahead. 


“ Wal, neow, Miss Maud,” interrupted Zeke, “ do 
yer spect yer par ter answer all them thar questions ? 
Why don’t yer ax im why the sky is blue, an’ the 
leaves is green, an’ the flowers all sorts o’ colors. I 
reckon it’s cos the Lord, he knowed best, an’ he made 
’em so.” 

“ Zeke is about right,” laughed Mr. Morrison. 
“ Still, Maudie, the Lord never does any thing without 
a good reason, and there are reasons for every thing 
he has done. Forms and coloring are all the result 
of certain fixed rules. If we were to go through the 
whole category of nature we should find nothing at 
hap-hazard, but every thing nicely adjusted to the 
place which he designed it to fill, and all eminently 
adapted to our use, comfort, or pleasure, as the case 
might be.” 

“ Then, papa, why is the sky blue ? Is it because 
it is such a lovely color ? ” 

“ ITot that alone, although I believe that the love 
of the beautiful must constitute a large element in 
the Infinite Mind, since such exquisite hues and 
forms are the result of his handiwork. There is 
really no sky, Maudie ; but that vault or dome over 
our heads, which we call by that name, is merely the 
atmosphere to which distance lends the beautiful blue 
tinge which we sometimes call azure.” 

“ But isn’t it really blue ? ” she asked, in amaze- 
ment. 

“ No,” was the smiling reply. “ If we were float- 


Light Ahead. 213 

ing up there we should find the air, as it is here, with- 
out color.” 

“ Is that the reason,” asked Alice, “ that the tops 
and sides of mountains look so bluish when they are 
far off? ” 

‘‘What do you know about mountains looking 
blue ? ” asked Ben, in his teasing tone. 

“ O,” she replied, quickly, “ I went once with papa 
and mamma to the White Mountains, and they used 
to look bluish, and sometimes kind of purplish. Papa 
used to say there was a purple haze resting on the 
mountain. Sometimes at sunset there would be yel- 
low and red, and sometimes a greenish light.” 

“ Yes,” answered Mr. Morrison, “ that was the con- 
centrated glory of the sun’s rays shining through the 
clouds refiected upon the mountain.” 

“ How far off are the clouds ? ” asked Alice. 

“Well,” he replied, considering a moment, “I be- 
lieve they are estimated in fine weather to be four or 
five miles above our heads, but I think their average 
distance is from a mile and a half to two miles.” 

“Papa,” said Maud, “you have not satisfied me 
yet about colors. Why are leaves green and roses 
red?” 

“ O, Uncle Hed,” exclaimed IN’ellie,” excuse me, but 
may I see if 1 can remember what I read about that ? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied, smiling. “ Go on, IN’ell, 
we shall all be highly edified to hear your solution of 
Maud’s difficulty.” 


214 


Light Ahead. 


“Well, let me see,” she proceeded, thoughtfully, 
“ it said — the book I mean — ” 

“ Be careful, i^ell,” interrupted Ben, “ only scien- 
tific reasons remember. No nonsense. This culti- 
vated audience will accept no theories except such as 
are based upon the strictest principles of science.” 

“Yery well. Uncle Ben,” was the good-natured 
rejoinder, “ I shall depend upon you to act as critic. 
It shall be your office to decide whether or not my 
theories are based upon scientific principles.” 

“Ahem! 1 accept the office. Proceed, if you 
please.” 

Half rising, he announced, “ A lecture will now 
be delivered by Professor Nellie Ormsbee on — I beg 
pardon — what is the subject ? ” 

“ Now, Mr. Ben,” interrupted Zeke, “ that ar aint 
fair. Ye’d oHer bin posted afore yer give eout a 
lectur.” 

“ That’s so, Zeke, I plead guilty.” Then laying 
his hand upon his heart with a profound bow, he 
resumed : “ Ladies and gentlemen, I have recovered 
my recollection. The fair lecturer’s subject is — is — 
light? or color?” he asked, assuming an appearance 
of intense embarrassment. 

He seated himself amid a roar of laughter, at the 
subsidence of which Mr. Morrison said, 

“Now, Nellie, I move that you proceed. Never 
mind Ben’s saucy interference.” 

“ O,” she replied, laughing, “ I don’t mind Uncle 


Light Ahead. 


215 


Ben ; lie’s bound to pay attention, because he is to be 
called upon for a criticism. Well, I think I read — 
remember. Uncle Ben, you are to criticise the book, 
not me. I think it said that a ray of light is com- 
posed of all colors of the rainbow, and that some 
things reflect one color and some another.” 

“ Good ! ” interrupted Ben, clapping vigorously. 

“ Stop,” she cried, raising her hand, “ I am not 
through yet.” 

Vociferous cheering, and cries of “ Go on, go on ! ” 
hindered her for a moment, after which she pro- 
ceeded : 

‘‘The reason that leaves are green is because they 
possess a peculiar property which causes them to 
absorb the red rays and reflect the blue and yellow 
ones, which produce green. The rose is red because 
it absorbs the blue and yellow rays and reflects only 
the red.” 

As she ceased Ben hopped up, exclaiming, 

“ Bravo ! Have I permission to criticise now ? ” 
“Yes,” she answered ; “I have finished.” 
Assuming a comic expression, which purported to 
be an unbounded and pompous confidence in his own 
knowledge, combined with an embarrassing doubt of 
the right of a critic to elicit further proof of a lect- 
urer’s capabilities by questioning, he asked, 

“ Does it lie within my province to catechise our 
friend upon this most interesting subject ? ” 

“Without doubt,” replied Mr. Morrison, “the young 


216 


Light Ahead. 


lady will prove equal to any emergency ; I will voucli 
for it.” 

“Very well, then,” rejoined Ben, again bowing, 
with his hand upon his heart ; perhaps she will in- 
form us why a violet is blue.” 

“ I believe,” she replied, laughing, “ that the violet 
is blue because it absorbs the red and yellow rays and 
reflects only the blue.” 

“ But why,” he asked, winking slyly at Mrs. Mor- 
rison, as if to say, ‘‘jS'ow IVe caught you,” “why does 
not every thing either absorb or reflect the same rays, 
or, in other words, why is not every thing the same 
color ? ” 

“ I think it is because their surfaces are diflerent,” 
she replied, with unruffled composure. 

“ Bravo again ! ” he cried. “ Ladies and gentlemen, 
our fair lecturer has acquitted herself admirably. 
That’s the proper thing to say, isn’t it?” he whis- 
pered to Mrs. Morrison, who was seated next him. 
Then he continued in a loud voice, “ She has proven 
her intimate and thorough acquaintance with the sub- 
ject under consideration, and merits our most sincere 
and hearty thanks. I move that we tender her a vote 
expressive of the same,” and, suiting the action to 
the word, he led a round of three times three hearty 
cheers, whose echoes rang over the clear water. 

“ How funny ! ” exclaimed Maud. “ How do peo- . 
pie know all these things, papa ? ” 

“Well,” he answered, “men whom we call scien- 


Light Ahead. 


217 


lists, or men who have studied into these things, have 
evolved or brought out such facts by experiments, 
and have reduced their knowledge to certain laws or 
rules which we call science.” 

“ It all seems so strange,” said Alice, in a musing 
tone. 

“ Not strange, Allie dear, when we remember that 
all these things work in harmony with Nature’s laws, 
and that Nature’s laws are God’s laws, and Nature 
itself is but an exponent or expression of the qualities 
which combine with beauty and utility in the Divine 
Mind. You do not understand it, my dear child, 
and yet the fact stands as plainly demonstrated as 
does the other fact, that when you open your box of 
water-colors at home, and mingle Prussian blue and 
gamboge, you have green of any shade you wish to 
make by the addition of more or less of either ingre- 
dient, as also that your Prussian blue and lake will in 
the same manner produce purple.” 

“ I understand that because I see it,” she answered, 
laughing, “ and I know just how it is done.” 

“Yes,” he replied, “that is just like our poor weak 
humanity. We believe those things which we see, 
but are willing to take very little upon trust. In 
regard to Maud’s question about the water, the same 
great facts have been evolved. The ocean, as well as 
the land, is his handiwork, and is subject to certain 
great fixed laws. Absorption, reflection, and refrac- 
tion are the natural causes, or those which God 


218 


Light Ahead. 


employs, and which are mainly explanatory of its 
different appearances. The water which we pour into 
our glasses and find so refreshing, so cooling to the 
parched mouth and throat, is absolutely colorless, but 
taken in a much larger quantity, and in a less pure 
state, and being subject to the laws of which I have 
spoken, we find it here to be of a beautiful blue, 
while if we were to go out on mid-ocean it would 
appear of a deep green.” 

“O, yes,” interrupted Maud, “that must be what 
they call sea-green ; isn’t it, papa ? ” 

“ Exactly,” answered her father, smiling. 

“Wal, neow. Miss Maud,” said Zeke, “ when I axed 
yer why yer didn’t ax yer par all them thar questions, 
I thought as heow I’d gin yer a stumper. I ’spected 
thar warn’t no reason, on’y ’cept cos it was. I didn’t 
know’t lamin’ went so fur as ter find eout heow God 
made thin’s. I kinder ’spected ’t nobody didn’t know 
that ar.” 

“ Why, Zeke, said Ben, earnestly, “ God didn’t put 
us into this world blindfolded. He endowed us with 
these faculties which we possess, the very nature of 
which is to look into the w^hy and wherefore of things 
around us ; and there can be nothing sinful in the in- 
vestigation, as long as we are satisfied with our legiti- 
mate knowledge, and are careful not to inquire into 
those things which he has hidden from our eyes.” 

“ Mebbe so. Mister Ben, mebbe so. I aint lam’d 
in these things ; on’y I kinder thought as heow ’twas 


Light Ahead. 219 

’nough' that God made ’em so. That ar’s reason 
’nough for me, any heow.” 

“ So it is, Zeke, if we have no means of study ; but 
if God grants us the advantages of education, it is 
right for us to employ them in such a way as will 
give us the most knowledge of him and his works, 
and as will do the greatest amount of good to the 
human family. You do not hesitate to make yourself 
familiar with the haunts and habits of such of his 
creatures as come within the range of your rifle or 
your fishing-rod. Why do you seek to inquire about 
them? Why not let them go according to their nature? 
Surely God made them as well as the rays of light or 
yonder rolling sun. If guilt there be, surely yours 
must be the greater, because you seek to destroy the 
life which none but he can give, while we only desire 
to make ourselves familiar with the mechanism of his 
created works.” 

“Wal, Mister Ben, I ’spect you’re right. I can’t 
argy the pint.” 

“I’ve seen you,” resumed Ben, ignoring the last 
remark, “lying for hours by the side of a stream 
watching the fishes sporting therein, or flat on your 
back motionless, taking in every motion of the birds 
and squirrels, until presently a crack from your rifle 
would bring the innocent victim lifeless at your feet. 
God gave them those haunts and those habits, and, 
according to your theory, you have no right to inter- 
fere with them.” 


220 


Light Ahead. 


“ Wal, ter tell yer the truth, Polly she used ter pick 
at me fur ter git sunthin’ ter eat, an’ that was jist 
abeout the easiest way ter do it, an’ so I used ter watch 
the critters, an’ sometimes I cotched ’em, an’ some- 
times I didn’t ; an’ I used ter lay thar, as yer sed you 
seed me, till it got purty nigh dinner time, an’ then I 
flew areound purty lively, cos I knowed Polly, she’d 
scold like blazes ef I didn’t take nothin’ home.” 

‘‘ There is one truth, Zeke, which we may always 
bear in mind, which is this : we need never be afraid 
of knowing too much of God or of his works in the 
natural world, so long as we do not attempt to take 
him to task for his dealings with us. Every thing he 
does is so perfectly done that it will bear our human 
investigation and imitation. So long as we recognize 
every thing — our own experiences included, whether 
pleasant or painful — as coming from the hand of a 
gracious Father, we are on the safe side, depend upon 
it. Knowledge of his works leads to knowledge of 
him, and knowledge of him leads to a higher and 
purer manhood.” 

“I s’pose so,” yawned Zeke; “but Pm dreadful 
consarvative in my ’pinions. I don’t b’lieve in no 
new-fangled hifalutin notions.” 

“ Uncle Ben,” said Fannie, suddenly, “I wish you 
would take me to Europe. I want to see the blue 
Mediterranean. I have read so much about it.” 

“All right. Fan,” said her father. “When Uncle 
Ked gets him a position as Minister to some foreign 


Light Ahead. 


221 


court you shall go with him, and be introduced as 
the niece of our illustrious Minister — Hon. Benjamin 
Hodman ! ” 

“What do you mean, papa?” asked his ambitious 
daughter, her eyes wide open with ungratified curi- 
osity. 

“How, Fred,” said his wife, “you have created a 
tempest in a tea-pot. All these young people will be 
on the qui vi/ve^ taking it all for a solemn fact. It is 
nothing. Fan,” she added, “nothing but some of papa 
and Uncle Ben’s fun.” 

“ I’ll tell you. Fan,” said Uncle Ben, “ these people 
are trying to make me marry some foreign princess. 
When I do you shall go along, and be presented at 
court.” 

“ O, what nonsense,” replied Fannie, with a sudden 
accession of dignity. “ If I never go till then, I may 
as well make up my mind to stay at home.” 

“ That is the best thing to do,” said her father, 
“ make up your mind to accept whatever is sent to 
you. There is the secret of happiness. Fan,” he add- 
ed, laying his hand upon her shoulder, emphatically. 

“ Yes,” said Zeke, dryly, “ even ter a scoldin’ wife 
or a drunken husban’.” 

“That’s it, Zeke,” said Uncle Ben, “for better 
or for worse. You and I know all about it, don’t* 
we?” 

“ Yes, yes, Mister Ben ; but sometimes it’s all wus 
an’ no better, an’ that’s most times, I reckon.” 


222 


Light Ahead. 


Make it better, then, man, make it better,” an- 
swered Ben, in hearty tones. “ There never was any 
thing so bad yet that it couldn’t be improved.” 

“ Dunno, Mister Ben, dunno, my ole woman don’t 
grow no better from one year’s end ter t’other. 
She scolds jist as hard, n’ harder every year, Polly 
does.” 

0 wad some power the giftie gie us, 

To see oorsels as ithers see us 1 ” 

quoted Ben. Then he added, seriously, “Zeke, do 
you ever look in the glass ? ” 

“ Look in the glass! ” repeated Zeke. “Wal, Mr. 
Ben, we ain’t got no very scrumptious glass for ter 
look inter. ^Nothin’ but a little cracked, zig-zag 
piece ’ll cut your face all up inter little patches, but 
I reckon I wouldn’t see nothin’ very splendacious 
ef I did. But what in natur’s that ar got ter do 
with it 1 ” 

“Much, Zeke. I was thinking that, perhaps, if 
you could see yourseK as Polly sees you, it might 
mend her scolding ways a little. Did you ever think 
it may not be all Polly’s fault, Zeke ? It’s just pos- 
sible, you know, that you may act in such a way as to 
make her scold.” 

“ La sakes ! I aint never thought nothin abeout 
that ar ; but then, that aint it. La sakes alive I I’m 
jist as good to her ’s I kin be, but it’s her natur ; she 
loves ter scold, Polly does.” 

“ Suppose you try her on a different tack. Sum- 


Light Ahead. 


223 


mon up a little more energy, and provide for her bet- 
ter than you do ; get her a more comfortable place to 
live in than that old tumble-down cabin, and then see 
if she isn’t a different woman.” 

“ Easier to say than to do, Mister Ben, a great deal. 
La sakes I I can’t do no more’n I am a-doin’. I’m 
nigh worked off o’ my legs a’ready.” 

This last assertion might have borne some sem- 
blance of truth to a stranger, if he observed the aim- 
less, shambling, almost imbecile manner in which 
those appendages were propelled by their indolent, 
incompetent possessor. 

One would imagine that the knowledge that a per- 
son bears the image of God would prove a sufficiently 
powerful motive to preserve intact the lineaments 
stamped upon him by the great Creator. In propor- 
tion as a man’s moral nature becomes sunk in igno- 
rance or vice does he lose the resemblance to “ Him 
who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.” It 
would be difficult to trace the divine likeness in the 
dirty, bloated, besotted victim of intemperance or 
crime, or even in the slatternly appearance and marred 
visage of him whom indolence and neglect have 
sunk to the level of the beasts. But mark the pure in 
heart, — in the erect form and noble brow of this loyal 
son, it is comparatively easy to catch the reflection of 
the Father’s face. It is this reflex influence which 
sheds its rays of hope and cheer over a circle of al- 
most limitless extent. 


224 


Light Ahead. 


We do not mean, by this, to imply that Zeke was 
addicted to any great or heinous crime, but he cer- 
tainly presents an exemplification of the waste and 
prostitution of powers which ought and might have 
been employed in the improvement of his own con- 
dition, in providing for those for whose welfare he 
was held responsible by his Maker, and in doing 
good, according to the measure of his capacity, to 
those outside of the home circle. His mental ca- 
pacities we have tested to some extent, and have 
found them extremely hmited; but even his phys- 
ical powers had, by his intolerable indolence, been 
allowed to become almost dormant, until his wife was 
an overworked household drudge, and his children 
were growing up around him in deplorable sloth and 
ignorance. 

The boat had been scudding along before a light 
breeze over the sapphire bosom of the lake, calm and 
unruffled as the summer sky above their heads. Low, 
slanting beams from the gorgeous orb of day beto- 
kened his downward march, and as though parting 
with lingering fondness from so fair a scene, he cast 
upon the surface of the water a golden glow in 
which lake and sky were suffused with glory. After 
the great glowing ball had dipped below the horizon, 
and the shades of night were rapidly gathering 
around them, Mr. Morrison exclaimed, looking at his 
watch, “Well, good people all, it is nearly seven 
o’clock 1 Is it not time that we were homeward bound ? 


Light Ahead. 225 

Suppose we tack about and commence our return 
voyage ? ” 

As he spoke the great, round, harvest moon, full- 
orbed and silvery, burst out upon them with a blaze 
of light which almost rivaled that of the day just 
departed. 

‘‘ O,” exclaimed Nellie, as she observed the moon’s 
shining track upon the water and the murky darkness 
of that which lay in shadow, ‘‘ what a gloomy thing 
it must be to be drowned ! The water looks so dark 
and cold.” 

“Yes, Nellie dear,” answered Mrs. Morrison, gen- 
tly. “But His presence can cast cheering beams 
upon the soul even there. It is all the same if we 
are in the hollow of his hand, where he has promised 
to hold us ; the bottom of the heaving ocean, or our 
own peaceful beds, will prove an equally safe transfer 
to his bosom.” 

“Yes,” answered Ben, thoughtfully, “there is no 
fear nor lack to those who trust him. Fire and flood, 
which naturally possess, perhaps, equal terrors, are 
alike powerless to harm the believer.” 

“ Isn’t it delightful,” said Mrs. Ormsbee,” to real- 
ize that there is, or need be, absolutely no fear to the 
tried and trusting soul ! ” 

Ben sat in silence a moment, when he appeared lost 
in thought, after which his sonorous tones burst into 
the familiar hymn, so dear to many hearts, “ Home- 
ward Bound,” which was soon taken up by every 
15 


226 


Light Ahead. 


voice, and its stirring refrain was soon ringing on the 
clear evening breeze. 

As those triumphant words sunk into their hearts 
tliej were a happy, if a subdued rather than a merry, 
party. The harp strings had been touched by other 
hands than theirs. Each heart was full, and was 
vibrating in harmony with their thrilling chords. 
Did a spirit of prophecy hover over that thoughtful 
group, or was it merely the effect of the hour and the 
scene ? Who can tell ? 

They reached the landing just as the last notes 
died away, and the debarking was effected almost in 
silence. The slight fatigue which they all expe- 
rienced probably contributed toward a quietude 
which was undoubtedly enhanced by the mellow 
lunar rays which were beaming upon them in un- 
clouded brilliancy, and the younger portion of the 
party, at least, were less loquacious than in the early 
part of the day. 

They drove along the same lovely road over which 
they had traveled in the morning, until within a few 
miles of home, when Zeke started up, exclaiming, 

“ Hello ! Thar’s a fire ! I be whipped ef I don’t 
b’lieve it’s the ole shanty a burnin’.” 

So absorbed had they been, each in his own 
thoughts, that they had not observed that the 
heavens were fast becoming tinged with a glowing 
light which, but for the lateness of the hour, might 
have been mistaken for the setting sun, until Zeke’s 


Light Ahead. 


227 


startled exclamation drew their attention to the direc- 
tion in which he pointed. Sure enough! There 
was no mistaking the lurid glare which burst upon 
them as they drew nearer, throwing the moon into 
comparative obscurity, and looking against the blue 
background of the sky, like a huge bonfire, now 
dying away, and now bursting out again into jets of 
flame. 

They made all haste to reach the scene of the dis- 
aster, when Ben, with, his usual prompt energy, called 
upon his two brothers-in-law to drive each a vehicle 
home, with the ladies and children, as also to see that 
provision was made for the reception of the unfor- 
tunate inmates of the burning house. His request 
was quickly complied with, and he immediately took 
measures to extinguish the flames, if such a thing 
were indeed possible. There was nothing in the 
tenement worth much effort to save, with the excep- 
tion of the human beings, whose terrified screams 
could be distinctly heard above the roaring and crack- 
ling of the devouring element. 

Zeke was almost paralyzed with terror, his long, 
limp limbs shaking as in an ague fit. Assuming a 
sternness which he did not feel, but knew to be the 
only means of arousing the trembling wretch to exer- 
tion, Ben ordered him, in commanding tones, to pro- 
cure some buckets of water and dash upon the fire, 
while he himself entered the burning dwelling, and 
with almost superhuman effort, extricated Polly and 


228 


Light Ahead. 


her brood, the former somewhat, but not seriously 
burned, and the latter more or less singed, but 
all shrieking and crying at the top of their shrill 
voices. 

‘‘ O ! O ! ” exclaimed Polly, with frantic gestures ; 
“ my sister and Lou. O, save them ! save them ! ” 
and then the strain upon her nerves gave way, and 
she fell upon the wet grass in a dead swoon. By 
this time Mr. Morrison and Mr. Ormsbee returned 
to the scene of action with a farm wagon, into which 
the insensible woman and her little ones were lifted 
and transported to Hodman Farm. 

Several sturdy men from the neighboring farms 
had reached the spot, and as so unusual an occurrence 
in that quiet place had aroused every body within 
sight and sound, quite a concourse had already as- 
sembled, some of whom stood idly by with their hands 
in their pockets, lazily gaping at the frightful, yet 
exciting scene, while others, with good intentions, 
but illy-directed efforts, accomplished but little. 

Ben quickly seized a ladder and planted it against 
the eaves of the house, at an angle where the flames 
were less fierce than in the front. Entering the 
house, he forced his way amid the burning half- 
charred wreck, almost blinded and choked by the 
smoke and severely scorched by the flames, until 
hearing from overhead the despairing wails of Mrs. 
Wentworth and her daughter, he called to them 
hoarsely to go to the window, and, stepping out in 


Light Ahead. 


229 


full view, lie tried to cheer and encourage them, 
hoping to be able to save them, by bidding them 
jump out, promising to catch tliem in his arms if 
they would but venture. 

But, alas ! this was a forlorn hope. He had not 
thought of the size of the window, which was found 
to be so small as scarcely to admit of the egress of a 
small child, while the half-frantic creatures were too 
dazed and stupefied to heed his instructions, even if 
compliance had been practicable. 

He re-entered the house, with the intention of as- 
cending to the upper story, and if possible rescuing 
the poor perishing victims ; but finding the rough, 
ladder-like stairs, which had sufficed for the unambi- 
tious occupants to reach the loft above, were envel- 
oped in flames, and so much burned as to be incapable 
of sustaining his weight, he immediately sought the 
aid of the friendly ladder outside, and began rapidly 
to scale it, in the liope of forcing an entrance. 

“ O, Mister Ben ! ” exclaimed a sturdy farmer, who 
stood idly gazing at the scene, but without volun- 
teering the slightest assistance, “you’re surely not 
agoin’ to try to git in there? You can’t save them, 
an’ you’ll lose your own life. Don’t go, Mr. Ben. 
You can’t do no good.” 

“ Are you a m(m f ” asked Ben, in withering tones, 
his blue eyes flashing indignantly, “and refuse to 
put forth an effort to save a perishing woman and 
her child ! ” And, turning away with a look of fixed 


230 


Light Ahead. 


determination in liis face, lie persisted in ascending 
notwithstanding the united entreaties of the by-stand- 
ers that he would desist. 

“ Better not venture ! You’ll never come out 
alive,” shouted a voice from the crowd. 

‘‘Yery well,” answered Ben, in firm, but kind 
tones. “ The will of the Lord be done. I can go to 
heaven just as well from a burning house as any- 
where else,” and, with a vigorous hand, he pulled out 
the narrow casement, and wrenching away the burn- 
ing frame-work which blistered his hands at every 
touch, he forced himself through the aperture which 
he thereby enlarged, and, seizing the trembling and 
half -fainting woman, he bore her to the window. 

“ Bring a bed ! ” he shouted, ‘‘ and stand by some 
of you to break her fall ; ” and, carefully passing her, 
dropped her right into the arms of the man who had 
quaked under his withering rebuke. To dispose of 
Lou in the same manner was but the work of a mo- 
ment, and as the window was but a few feet from the 
ground, they were unhurt by the fall, although some- 
what badly burned. There now seemed to Ben no 
way of escape for himself. The walls were falling, and 
he had snatched Lou just as the fioor was trembling 
beneath her feet. Having saved others, himself he 
could not save. He had exerted himself to the ut- 
most, and now his energies were beginning to fail. 
His limbs were numb and well-nigh powerless ; his 
head swam, and, committing his soul to the God 


Light Ahead. 


231 


who gave it, and in whose spirit he had so faithfully 
worked, he was about to yield himself to the weari- 
ness and torpor which made death appear inevitable, 
when the thought of his mother recalled him to life 
and quickened his sinking powers. He determined 
to make one more effort to save himself, and, totter- 
ing toward the now fast-crumbling wall, he made 
a plunge and went — he knew not whither. Hearts 
which had selfishly shrunk with trembling dread 
from encountering danger, perhaps death, and hands 
which had been helplessly withheld, were now quick- 
ly and readily extended for the assistance of him who 
had risked his life in the noble effort to save two 
helpless fellow-creatures from the jaws of the devour- 
ing monster. 

A rude litter was speedily prepared, on which the 
insentient clod was tenderly and reverently laid, and 
with slow and mournful steps borne back to the 
home from whence he had so merrily departed but a 
few hours before. A careful examination showed 
that life was not extinct, but that he had sustained 
injuries which, in all human probability, would ter- 
minate his existence in a few days. A concussion of 
the brain had been produced by striking, in his fall, 
a huge rock, against which his head had lain when 
he was removed from the ruins. Internal injuries 
had been received, as the physicians supposed, by 
swallowing the fiames, in which he had been com- 
pletely enveloped. He lay in a heavy stupor, from 


232 Light Ahead. 

which Dr. Anderson warned his friends he might 
never rally. 

Here was the test of the Christian virtues which, in 
Grandma Kodman, had shone so brilliantly. Here 
was the darling son, on whom she had leaned in all 
her trials, the stay of her fast-declining days, leveled 
by a sudden blow of the destroyer. The human 
heart, in the bitterness of its anguish, is sometimes 
disposed to question the dealings of the hand by 
which it is bereaved. “ Why ! ” she might have ex- 
claimed, in the intensity of her grief, “ O ! why was 
he smitten in the glory of his manhood, while I, a 
leafless trunk, whose boughs are sunken and sapless, 
remain to cumber the soil ! I have served my gen- 
eration, and weary and footsore, long for the prom- 
ised rest, while he was strong and vigorous and 
girded to run the race even to its utmost limit.” 
Yet no such words passed her quivering lips, but 
bowing to the dread behest in speechless agony, 
she never left the side of her unconscious son. The 
other members of the family were too much absorbed 
in grief to heed the harsh and fretful words to which 
they were constantly exposed by Lou. Ho feeling 
of gratitude toward him to whom she owed her de- 
liverance from a fearful death, and whose life was 
the forfeit ; no sympathy for the agonized family to 
whose hospitality she was indebted for food and 
shelter, deterred her in the slightest degree from the 
most querulous and bitter complainings. She de- 


Light Ahead. 


233 


dared she would not remain in the house with that 
proud Maud Morrison, and that hateful thing they 
all made such a fuss over. 

But rave and scold as she would, a week passed 
before she could relieve them of her presence. Mrs. 
Wentworth was so much prostrated by nervous ex- 
haustion as to be unable to rise from her bed, and 
Lou’s fretful complainings did not, by any means, ac- 
celerate her recovery. 

The heavy stupor in which Uncle Ben lay lasted 
in unbroken measure until the third day, when he 
opened his eyes, and feebly pressing with his cold 
fingers the hand which clasped his own, faintly artic- 
ulated, “ Dear mother ! Jesus is here — all — is — peace.” 
He could say no more. That stupor which was the 
forerunner of the approach of the last enemy, whose 
Conqueror was close at hand to enable his faithful 
follower to triumph even as he had triumphed, again 
overcame him. His mind wandered slightly for a 
few moments, when, after an interval of silence, dur- 
ing which it seemed as though the glorified spirit had 
already entered into the ineffable brightness of the 
Saviour’s presence, he rallied for a moment, opened 
his eyes with a look of clear intelligence in their blue 
depths, as his lips formed the simple word, “ Alice.” 

Who can analyze the thoughts and feelings of one 
who stands upon the confines of that world through 
whose open portals he looks with an eye still 
dimmed by its contact with the flesh ? The strange 


234 


Light Ahead. 


mingling, it may be, of scenes that have been, scenes 
that are, and scenes that are to be. The thrill of 
chords which are being rent asunder and of those 
which are about to be reunited j the mysterious exit of 
the soul from a known and tried state of existence to 
one which is unknown and untried ; the melting away 
of the last, lingering regrets of earthly affection in the 
full tide of that Love unutterable. There had been 
formed in the heart of this man of strong, glowing, 
and unselfish character, a deep attachment for the 
little “ stranger who had entered within his gates,” 
and even now, in this dying hour, her words of 
childish faith and hope were vaguely floating through 
his confused and fast-benumbing brain. 

The little girl was instantly summoned, and with 
trembling steps made her way to the bedside of her 
true-hearted friend. As she entered the room he 
lay with closed eyes, but his lips were moving, and 
the words, “ Come, O come,” were distinctly recog- 
nizable. Hearing the sound of her liglit footfall, he 
again opened his eyes, and feebly extending his hand 
as she laid her own in his broad palm, now cold and 
clammy, he said, with much effort, “ Sing — that — ” 
Alice hesitated a moment, and then, in a voice 
choked with tears, commenced that hymn which is so 
familiar to almost every Sunday-school child : 

“ My latest sun is sinking fast, 

My race is almost run ; 

My strongest trials now are past, 

My triumph is begun. 


Light Ahead. 


235 


0 come, angel band, 

Come, and around me stand ; 

0 bear mC away on your snowy wings. 

To my immortal home.” 

SLe gained composure as she proceeded; and sang 
in a steady voice through the last stanza, when the 
cold hand clasped her own, and the feeble voice 
faintly murmured, 

“ Thank you. They are very near. O ! don’t you 
see the shinning ones ? ” 

Then turning to his weeping mother with a look 
of melting tenderness, he motioned her to put her 
lips to his own, and with a vain effort to clasp his 
arms around her neck, the brave, noble heart ceased 
to beat. Alice thought of her father’s words, “ There 
is light ahead,” and felt assured that dear Uncle Ben 
had preceded him into its undimmed radiance. 

His aged mother bent over tlie motionless form, 
and in a calm voice, with a sublime aud unquestion- 
ing faith, exclaimed, in the words of His afflicted 
servant of old : 

“ The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; 
blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

The funeral was fixed for the third day, and on the 
preceding afternoon Nellie and Alice, with a mutual 
feeling of mingled awe and affection, visited the 
room where reposed all that remained of their much- 
loved, merry-hearted companion and friend — for such 
he had been to both old and young. As they softly 
opened the door, through the glimmering light which 


236 


Light Ahead. 


came from a nearly closed blind, they discerned a 
prostrate figure leaning motionless upon the casket. 
As their eyes became accustomed to the dusky light, 
they recognized the stricken mother, hovering in 
speechless agony over the cold clay. 

With instinctive delicacy they drew back, thinking 
to leave the mourner with her dead, but slight as were 
the sounds they made, grandma’s quick ear detected 
them, and beckoning them toward her, and encir- 
cling them in a close embrace, she stood silently 
wrestling with the tide of agony which required all 
the powers of her soul, in conjunction with her true 
and living faith, to combat. Then gently disengaging 
herself with loving touches, she smoothed the pure 
white brow, already smoothed by a colder hand than 
hers, and pressed a silent kiss upon the for once un- 
responsive lips. 

Alice caught the words, “ My bright, brave Ben,” 
and then, with a burst of anguish, the wail of which 
broke from the mourning king of Israel, as from 
myriads of bereaved hearts since, “ O, my son, my 
son ; would God I had died for thee.” 

They felt the aged form tremble with the intensity 
of a grief which the brave Christian was trying to 
suppress. Darkness was fast enveloping the room in 
its shadowy folds, and with gentle persuasion the two 
girls led the unresisting figure to her own apartment. 
No word of vain, unavailing regret passed the uncom- 
plaining lips, only a gentle submission to her Father’s 


Light Ahead. 


237 


will, an apparently unreserved resignation of her 
heart’s treasure ; a peaceful, nay, an almost joyful, 
realization that he had entered upon his inheritance, 
where her advanced years assured her that there 
would ere long be a glorious and triumphant re- 
union. 

The next day the remains were removed to the 
village church, whose limited capacity was utterly 
insufficient to accommodate the crowd of sincere 
mourners who thronged its gates, for Uncle Ben had 
been widely known and loved. After the services 
the body was conveyed to the neat little cemetery and 
deposited by the side of his father and a sister who 
had died many years before. 

As the clergyman pronounced the words, “ Earth 
to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and cer- 
tain hope of the resurrection,” the setting sun poured 
a flood of golden radiance full into the open grave, 
as though affording, in addition to the words whose 
cadences were still thrilling on the ear, a bright and 
cheering assurance of the glory which was already 
being revealed. 

After the funeral Mr. and Mrs. Morrison made 
immediate preparations for a return to the city, for 
the purpose of closing up all business and social re- 
lations in view of a speedy removal to Bodman Farm. 
Grandma could not remain alone, and it would have 
been like uprooting an ancient oak from its mother 
earth to remove her from the home of so many years. 


238 


Light Ahead. 


Here she had come in early life, a happy bride, with 
her heart’s choice. Here her children had all been 
born ; from this home two had gone forth to take 
their places as wives and mothers. Here she had 
followed the husband of her youth and a loved 
daughter to their last resting-place, and now another 
tie was added to those which previously bound her to 
the spot. 

Ho. It was plain that grandma must end her days 
at the old homestead, the scene around which clus- 
tered so many precious, fragrant memories. It was 
decided that Maud should remain with Harry at the 
farm for a few weeks, when she would return with 
her aunt to Boston, and continue her education in 
that city. Alice, of course, would accompany Mr. and 
Mrs. Morrison to Hew York ; and Maud shed many 
tears at the thought of parting with her little play- 
mate and friend. 

Alice had been deeply attached to him who was 
gone. His gentle kindness, his unvarying good 
humor, and his thoughtfulness for others, had over- 
come her timidity and won her shy little heart at 
the beginning, and now she missed, O so much, 
the sunny smile, the merry twinkle of the blue 
eyes, and, more than all, the affectionate sympathy, 
which seemed to read and understand her unspoken 
thoughts. 

O grave! how often dost thou shut from our 
sight an eye, whose kindling glances are still quick- 


Light Ahead. 


239 


ening onr souls! How implacable thou art! How 
frequently dost thou inclose within thy narrow por- 
tal the hand whose touch upon our brow was like the 
cooling dews of the blushing morn, or like a soft, 
fragrant June zephyr ! How many times hast thou 
hushed a loved voice, whose tones are still echoing in 
our ears and thrilling our heart-strings ! 

How often, too, does the memory of Him whom 
thou wert powerless to hold turn our wailing dirge 
into peans of victory as, with exultant joy, we re- 
member that he has triumphed, even over thee ! 

On the day before her departure Alice asked Hellie 
to walk with her to the spot now made sacred to 
them all, as she wished to make an offering of some 
of the flowers which she had cultivated with such 
tender care under his direction and assistance. 

Her tears flowed fast as she gathered this tribute 
of affection, and proceeded in silence toward the in- 
closure where slumbered the sacred dust. The gate 
stood open, and, drawing near to the grave, they saw 
Zeke sitting by its side, in a dejected attitude, with 
his head resting upon the sods which covered the 
sleeper. Hearing approaching footsteps, he aroused 
from his crouching posture, and revealed the big tears 
running down his cheeks. 

“Ah, Miss Alice,” he said, mournfully, “be yer 
come ter say good-bye ter this here ? ” 

“ Yes, Zeke,” she replied. “ I am going home to- 
morrow.” 


240 


Light Ahead. 


“ O,” lie said, rocking himself backward and for- 
ward, who’d a thought Mr. Ben ’ud a bin taken 
afore me ? Why, he was well an’ strong, jist in his 
prime, Mr. Ben was, an’ I’m an ol’ hulk, what aint 
good fer nothin’.” 

Although his listeners knew that Zeke by no means 
placed so low an estimate upon his importance, they 
also knew that his grief was sincere, for he had al- 
ways manifested the utmost respect for his master’s 
wishes and opinions, together with the highest meed 
of affection of which so selfish a nature was capable. 

“ Bless yer hearts ! ” he continued, as memories of 
Uncle Ben’s kindness and sympathy thronged upon 
him, “ I dunno whatever I’d a done ef it hadn’t a bin 
fer Mister Ben, an’ I aint the only one nuther what 
misses him a’ready. Why, la sakes, deown ter the 
village they’re all away deown in the mouth, every 
mother’s son on ’em. He bed lots o’ friends, Mr. 
Ben bed, an he was a friend ter every body.” 

Zeke had struck the key-note of the Christian’s 
life; that note which rolls its harmonious numbers 
through every pulsation of his heart, whose sweet 
refrain swells out from every act of his daily life, 
that charity which “ suffereth long, and is kind.” 

This is the note which, if better learned and used, 
would ring its vibrations through many a soul, lend- 
ing a charm to lives now desolate, friendless, and 
well-nigh hopeless ; for an unselfish heart, producing 
a life of unselfish acts, brings its own rich reward. 


Light Ahead. 


241 


A life which is spent in considering the interest of 
others — their hopes, their designs, their aspirations, 
and, so far as these are worthy, in assisting their de- 
velopment and execution — has not been spent in vain. 

Zeke had relapsed into silence, which remained un- 
broken for some time, a mournful hush resting upon 
each heart, until, with a sob, he exclaimed, 

“An’ ter think that he should a’ lost his life a 
tryin’ ter save that ere proud woman an’ her darter. 
They wasn’t wuth it, Miss Nellie,” he continued, the 
tears coursing each other down his sun-bumed and fur- 
rowed cheeks ; “ their lives, both on ’em, wasn’t wuth 
his’n, but he wouldn’t listen ter nobody. He jist 
seemed bent on savin’ them two wuthless critters.” 

“ He died a noble death,” said Alice. “ In imita- 
tion of the Saviour, he gave his Hfe for others.” 

“ Noble ! ’Course he did ; but I don’t b’lieve a 
man like him what does good ter every body ’s called 
upon ter kill hisself ter save somebody what aint no 
good ter nobody.” 

“ Suppose that had been the principle upon which 
the Redeemer had provided salvation — only for those 
whom we call brave and true — where would we 
stand?” asked Nellie, solemnly. 

“ Dunno, haint never thought about it that way.” 

“ Come, Allie,” said Nellie, pointing to the declin- 
ing sun, “we must go now; it is getting late, and 
they will be wondering where we are.” 

Alice had rifled her garden of all its fragrant 
16 


242 


Light Ahead. 


treasures and strewed them with lavish hand upon 
the grassy bed ; now she arose and silently obeyed her 
gentle monitor. 

Zeke also arose, and, shambling after them, closed 
the gate with noiseless hand, and then slowly and 
thoughtfully pursued his homeward way. 

The last hours of day were resting upon the lonely 
spot, and silently the shades of twilight were gathering 
around. Slowly and with majestic march the moon 
rose and gilded the couch of the dreamless sleeper, 
while the twinkling stars came out, one by one, and 
watched, with loving eyes, over the same lonely bed. 

There we leave him. Brave, noble Ben ! who 
counted not thy life dear unto thyself ; there we 
leave thee to thy quiet, undisturbed repose. There 
may thy slumber be sweet until Gabriel, with his 
trumpet, appears to hail the resurrection morning. 
We leave thee with flowing tears, but with a glowing 
assurance for thee in the coming day. Brave, noble 
heart, farewell. 


6 



CHAPTER XIV. 


F requent letters from home had assured Alice 
that her father was, at least, no worse, and, with 
the quick recuperative power of childhood, she had 
entirely rallied from the nervous dread with which 
each succeeding epistle had, for some weeks, been 
received. No mention had been made of a change 
of residence, as it was thought that the pleasure of 
her return would be enhanced by a reception so to- 
tally unexpected. When the carriage drew up be- 
fore the elegant mansion which was henceforth to be 
her home, she manifested not the slightest token of 
surprise, supposing that Mrs. Morrison had an errand 
which would detain her but a few moments. 

The awnings, which protected the windows from 
the glare of the sun during the heat of the day, were 
now raised to admit the cool morning breeze, which 
was floating through the rooms. The steps and lin- 
tels were dripping with the refreshing shower which 
had just ceased issuing from the hose now lying 
coiled upon the sidewalk. 

No person was visible, although the last revolution 
of the wheels had scarcely ceased when Mabel’s ra- 
diant face appeared at the hall-door, arrayed in 
smiles as joyous as the radiant morn itself. 


244 


Light Ahead. 


“Here we are!” exclaimed Mr. Morrison, as lie 
handed his wife and Alice from the carriage. 
“ There’s a rousing welcome waiting for you, Allie, 
if' I am not much mistaken. I know, by the look of 
Mabel’s face, though, that she isn’t glad to see you. 
Not she.” 

“ O, Allie, darling little sister ! ” was the delighted 
exclamation of the former, as she hastily snatched 
Alice, and nearly smothered her with kisses. “ I 
think I never was so glad in my life.” 

“ Hold on, Mabel ! ” was Mrs. Morrison’s laughing 
rejoinder. “ Make an exception in favor of — ” 

“No,” she interrupted, laughing, while a rosy 
glow spread over her face ; “ I make no exceptions 
in favor of any one. Pardon me, dear Mrs. Mor- 
rison,” she added, in an apologetic tone, “for my 
rudeness ; but, indeed, I am nearly wild with 

joy.” 

Allie was so dazed that, when her mother appeared 
almost immediately, looking so much better and hap- 
pier than when she last saw her, she was utterly 
speechless, having no power to ask the why or where- 
fore of aught she saw or heard. 

When her two sturdy brothers came rushing down 
stairs, Charlie, the elder, exclaiming, 

“Hallo, All Welcome home! Aint this a bully 
place to live in ? ” slie was somewhat aroused from 
the dreamland in which she had been wandering. 

“ What does it all mean, mamma ? ” she asked. 


Light Ahead. 


245 


“ What are you all doing here, and where is papa ? 
I want to see him this very minute.” 

“ So you shall, darling. He is much more com- 
fortable, and waiting with as much impatience as he 
ever manifests to see his little White Kose.” 

Heigho, Allie ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar, now for 
the first time appearing. Have you no greeting for 
auntie ? ” 

‘‘Yes, indeed,” she replied, returning the hearty 
kiss, which the lady had imprinted upon both soft 
cheeks, now more rounded and not so colorless 
as when she last bestowed a similar token of affec- 
tion upon them. 

“ How, please, let me see papa,” she said, in a plead- 
ing tone, turning toward her mother, with a world 
of tender longing lurking in the deep wells of her 
dark eyes. 

“ O, mamma,” she said, as she followed her mother 
up stairs. “ I had a lovely time ! But, O ! it was 
so sad at the last. Poor Uncle Ben ! he was so kind 
and good.” 

After the first greeting between Alice and her 
father had passed, the wonder which had seized her 
upon her first return again found vent. 

“ I can’t understand it at all,” she said, in a per- 
plexed tone. “ Why are you all here ? Whose 
house is this ? Has papa grown rich again ? ” 

In a few words the mystery was explained, and 
with quick versatility of thought, she turned to the 


246 


Light Ahead. 


subject now uppermost in lier mind, which Mrs. 
Morrison had left her to divulge, considering her the 
best advocate of her own cause. 

After revolving the matter in her mind a few 
moments, she commenced by saying, 

“ Mrs. Morrison is coming here this evening, mam- 
ma, to see you. She has something to say to you 
about me. Can you guess what it is ? ” 

“ She is going to say that you have driven them 
all frantic with your m ad-cap pranks, and that your 
presence will never be tolerated there again,” an- 
swered Mabel, who had entered the room just in 
time to hear Alice’s last remark and the question 
which she had appended to it. 

“No, not that,” was Alice’s laughing rejoinder. 
“You are mistaken there, Mabel. O, I may as well 
tell you. You will never guess. Well, mamma, 
they want me to go to Boston to school, and stay 
with the Ormsbees. What do you think of that ? ” 

“ Go to Boston to school ! ” echoed Mrs. Hamilton. 
“ Why, Alice, child, you must be dreaming.” 

“No, not dreaming, mamma, but wide awake, and 
in my right mind, too,” she added, laughing. 

. “ But, my dear child, I do not see how so much 
could be accomplished. Education costs something, 
you know, Allie, at least that style of education 
does, and there would be your board and other con- 
tingent expenses. Indeed, my daughter, I do not 
think it at all practicable.” 


Light Ahead. 


247 


“ ITow, Isabel,” exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar, wlio had 
been a silent listener, “you are the first person I 
ever knew who refused to allow the purse of For- 
tunatus to be dropped into her lap. Accept all the 
gods offer you. Depend upon it there will not be 
more than you deserve.” 

“ Heresy ! Mabel dear, rank heresy ! Bid me 
rather, with a grateful heart, receive the favors which 
my covenant-keeping God so constantly sends me in 
fulfillment of his promises.” 

Mrs. Dunbar rose and left the room, stopping a 
moment to whisper in her friend’s ear, 

“ I envy you your trusting faith, Isabel. It is 
worth a mine of wealth.” 

Mrs. Hamilton’s voice slightly faltered, and her 
eyes glistened as watching the retreating figure, she 
drew Alice toward her, saying, 

“ But how shall we spare our little Allie so long 
again, so many months ? ” 

“ She will soon be little Allie no longer, mamma, 
interrupted her father, desiring to change the cur- 
rent of her thoughts ; “ she is fast leaving babyhood 
in the distance ; eh, Allie ? ” 

“ Yes, papa,” she answered ; “ in a week, I shall 
be eleven years old.” 

“Alice,” asked her mother, “do. you know any 
thing about the plans proposed ? I understand from 
Mrs. Dunbar’s hints that she is to have a hand in 
the matter, and while I would not be ungrateful, and 


248 


Light Ahead. 


wish my little girl to have all the advantages which 
her heavenly Father sees fit to bestow upon her, yet 
I must plead guilty to a feeling of delicacy in adding 
to our already weighty obligations to her. She has 
the kindest heart in the world, but I cannot consent 
to burden her to an unlimited extent.” 

“ No, mamma,” was Alice’s reply, “ I do not know ; 
but Mrs. Morrison will tell you all about it.” 

“ I think, my dear,” said Mr. Hamilton, addressing 
his wife, “ that the most important point to be decided 
is, whether Alice would be willing to go so far from 
home, and for a lengthened period. How is it, Allie ?” 

Alice hesitated a moment, and the quick tears 
rushed to her eyes as she answered, 

“ O, papa, if — I mean, if you were well — and — ” 
then becoming embarrassed, she stopped abruptly. 

“ I understand what my little daughter would say. 
She means that if she could be sure that her father 
would be here on her return, she would be willing to 
go. Isn’t that it, darling ? ” 

She gave an assenting gesture, and he continued, 
“ Your sensitive little heart shrank from saying that 
which you feared might wound me. Have no fears 
of that kind, Allie. I am so much more comforta- 
ble, that, while I can never recover, I believe the 
doctor thinks that I may live many years. Our 
lives are all in God’s hands, you know, darling. ‘ He 
can smite and he can heal.’ It would not be worth 
while for you to forego the opportunity of securing 


Light Ahead, 


249 


a good education for my sake. It is an inheritance 
I would like to have left my little daughter, but God 
has placed it beyond my power, and if in his infinite 
kindness he bestows it upon her through another 
hand, she need not hesitate to accept it. There can 
be no doubt that this is the ordering of his provi- 
dence, and he will take care of the result. So put 
your father out of your thoughts, Allie dear, and all 
will be well.’’ 

“ Are you and mamma quite willing I should go ? ” 
she asked, glancing quickly from one to the other, 
with a half-tearful and half-smiling countenance. 

“Allie, did you ever think that when a sweet 
young rose-bud is severed from the parent stem, 
even though it go to grace the form of some beau- 
tiful lady, or to embellish the christening of some 
lovely babe, that even then the bereaved stem of the 
bush weeps tears ? And do you imagine that we could 
allow our little pale blossom to leave without many 
tears, even though, unlike the rose-bush, we have the 
hope that our bud will return to us, fairer, sweeter, 
and diffusing a richer fragrance ? ” 

He paused a moment, during which Alice’s tears 
flowed fast, and then resumed : 

“ Tell us all that is in your heart, as that will assist 
in a decision so important to you. Y ou know, Allie 
dear, that it is your interest that we seek.” 

Alice choked back her tears, and answered, stoutly, 
“ Well, papa, I will tell you the truth. I am a big 


250 


Light Ahead. 


girl, and know almost nothing. I do want to be — 
what is a strong-minded woman, mamma ? ” 

“ A strong-minded woman, in the popular sense, is 
one whom I hope my Alice will never become. One 
who is dissatisfied with the sphere of life in which it 
has pleased God to give her existence, and tries to 
unsex herself by assuming those pursuits which are 
usually accorded to the sex whom the Creator has 
endowed with those faculties which render them 
abler and fitter to cope with the Babel of the outside 
world. She is unwilling, faithfully and intelligently, 
to fulfill her legitimate duties — the care of her house- 
hold, the use of her needle, and the thousand-and- 
one acts of Christian kindness which a true woman 
knows so well how to perform, but must step out 
into public life, mount the rostrum, deliver lectures 
on Woman’s Rights and other kindred topics, go to 
the ballot-box, and, in short, do any thing and every 
thing that no modest, refined woman ever ought to 
dream of doing.” 

Bravo ! ” cried Mr. Hamilton, clapping his hands. 
“ Why, my dear, you are waxing eloquent. Don’t 
let us have you doing the very thing you reprobate.” 

“ I always grow eloquent on this theme,” she re- 
plied, “ but only in the retirement of home ; my 
voice will'never penetrate the ears of the vulgar crowd. 
When I think,” she added, the color rising to her 
cheeks, “of my own sex so misapplying the high 
talents with which Heaven has endowed very many, 


Light Ahead. 


251 


it makes my clieeks tingle with shame for those who 
are themselves shameless.” 

“ Mamma is right,” rejoined Mr. Hamilton, seri- 
ously ; “ and I thank God for the assurance I feel in 
my inmost heart that my little White Rose and my 
sweet, noble Mabel have no such proclivities; but, 
my dear, have you forgotten to paint the other side 
of the picture ? ” 

“ Ho, I have not forgotten it,” was the laughing 
rejoinder. “ Shall I present my views still further 
in my own peculiarly eloquent style ? That is what 
the reporters say, is it not ? ” 

“ By all means. I know of no one who is better 
qualified, by actual experience, in possession of those 
qualities you will attempt to describe.” 

“Well, then, Alice, a strong-minded woman, in the 
true sense, is one who takes up the burdens of her 
life, if burdens there be in her lot — and who is utterly 
exempt? — bearing them in a spirit of cheerful self- 
sacrifice, for the sake of Christ and those whom she 
loves ; who shrinks from no duties, however distaste- 
ful ; who, as Solomon expressed it, ‘ looks well to the 
ways of her household;’ who, instead of delegating 
the holy oflice of motherhood to hirelings, cares 
for the welfare of the children whom God has given 
her, ministering to them in illness, superintending 
their education, and bringing them up as sons and 
daughters of the Lord Almighty. She will not blush 
nor faint, if it so chance that she be found, by a 


252 


Light Ahead. 


fashionable acquaintance, with sleeves rolled np, and 
arms whitened with the flour of which she is prepar- 
ing the bread which is to become the muscle and fiber 
of husbana and children. She is one who will adapt 
herself to any position which her heavenly Father 
designs for her ; working, if need be, with hand 
and brain, with cheerful alacrity, or presiding with 
ease and dignity over a home whose synonym is — 
almost hea/ven. Have I made my subject sufficiently 
lucid?” she asked, turning to her husband, with a 
smile. 

As she glanced at him she detected the humidity 
in his eyes, but he quickly rallied, and, looking fondly 
toward Alice, replied, 

“ I should say so, without doubt ; but as Alice is 
auditor on this occasion, to her the appeal must be 
made.” 

“ I think I know what mamma means,” said Alice, 
looking up quickly with her own peculiarly bright, 
intelligent expression. “I think Mrs. Ormsbee and 
Mrs. Morrison — yes, and Grandma Kodman, too — are 
such women, because they behaved so beautifully 
when Uncle Ben died. They loved him dearly, 
mamma, but they never made the least fuss about it 
— they were so quiet — because they said it was God’s 
will, and dear Ben had gone to a better world. Isn’t 
that a beautiful faith, mamma ? ” 

“Yes, darling,” was the low, soft answer; “God 
grant it may be yours, also.” 


Light Ahead. 


253 


“ Forgive me, please, mamma, for putting you last ; 
but I have often wondered if those women 1 have 
heard talked so much about, were like my dear, beau- 
tiful mamma, so good, so gentle, so lovely ! ” 

“ Flatterer ! ” replied her mother, putting her hand 
over the sweet lips, aud gently patting the soft arms 
that so lovingly encircled her neck. 

“ No, not flattery. Truly, I would like to be like 
my own dear mamma, and I would like to be like 
those women who write beautiful poetry and books. 
Do you think I could ? ’’ she asked, while the rich 
color rose to the fair cheeks. 

“ I don’t know, darling. That is a gift from God, 
which my little Alice may or may not possess ; but 
in either case she can work for him, if not with her 
pen, at least in some other way.” 

“ Well, the reason,” she replied, thoughtfully, ‘‘that 
I want to go to Boston is, that I may have a chance 
to learn all that is necessary; and if there is any thing 
of that kind in me, I shall know it after I have studied 
and learned a great deal ; sha’n’t I, mamma ? I have 
beautiful thoughts now, sometimes ; and, may be, if I 
study hard, when I get older, I may be able to write 
them.” 

“ You are right, Allie,” answered her father. 
“ There is no doubt that education will develop what- 
ever latent talent you may possess ; and I am glad 
that my little girl manifests suflicient strength of 
character to be willing to make so great a sacriflce for 


254 


Light Ahead. 


the sake of a benefit which lies wholly in the future. 
But, my child, consider the matter well. Take into 
your calculation a prolonged absence from home and 
friends, and possible, nay, Allie, probable, hours of 
weariness and home-sickness, during which you would 
give all the world contains, were it at your disposal, 
for an hour’s petting from mamma and papa, or a 
pleasant chat with Mabel. I do not wish to discour- 
age you, darling, but I would have you carefully 
count the cost, lest, having put your hand to the plow, 
you look back.” 

“No, papa,” was the decided reply, “I will not look 
back after I have once started. I shall think what I 
am there for; and if I get homesick I will try to 
overcome it by studying all the harder, and I think 
that will help me bear the pain. Then, you know, 
I shall be with Maud and the Ormsbee girls, and I 
know Mrs. Ormsbee will take good care of me. I 
think God will help me,” she added, reverently, “ be- 
cause I want to learn, so that when I grow up I can 
take care of you and mamma. Mabel gives music 
lessons; why should not I do something useful, too ? 
I am determined to try, at least.” 

“ So you shall, darling,” replied Mr. Hamilton, 
with glistening eye ; and perhaps I shall live to see a 
second Mrs. Browning, or Gail Hamilton — our name- 
sake, by the way, Allie. Strange things happen, and 
I do not think it would be so very strange a thing 
if my thoughtful little daughter should prove herself 


Light Ahead. 255 

capable of accomplishing something creditable one of 
these days.” 

“Thank yon, papa, for yonr encouragement. If 
you and mamma consent to let me go, I will do my 
very best, I promise you.” 

Nothing further was said upon the subject that 
morning ; but Alice amused her father by giving a 
graphic description of Zeke’s peculiarities, recounting, 
with infinite zest, the fond father’s hopes in regard 
to his son’s undeveloped poetical talent. Tony also 
came in for his share of notice, x\lice thus bringing 
to light a faculty of imitation which had hitherto 
lain dormant. 

Mr. Hamilton laughed heartily, and seemed in such 
good spirits, that Alice felt repaid for the effort she 
had made to entertain him. She continued her nar- 
rative until nearly luncheon-time, giving pleasant and 
truthful descriptions of places and things she had 
seen. Uncle Ben’s heroism and consequent death 
were pathetically and touchingly detailed. 

‘^Tres hien! ” exclaimed her father, as she finished 
her recital. “ I believe my little White Kose may 
whisper some pleasant thoughts to listening ears some 
of these days.” 

“ Perhaps,” she answered, as the sound of the 
luncheon-bell summoned them to the dining-room. 

The next morning Dr. Monroe presented himseK, 
when, catching a sight of Alice, he exclaimed, 

“Hallo! had an arrival, eh?” then, taking her 


256 


Light Ahead. 


bj the shoulder, he continued : “ She’s got some color 
in her cheeks, too. Why this isn’t a shadow, Hamil- 
ton — veritable substance ! More muscle, too, as well 
as flesh. How many hundred pounds can you lift ? 
They must have given you something mighty nice to 
eat, to make you look so much more like a human 
being than you did two months ago.” 

“Every thing that was nice,” she answered, laugh- 
ing. 

“ Must be a good place to go. Do you think they 
would feed me as well as they did you ? ” 

Alice gave him a comical look, which he immedi- 
ately interpreted correctly. 

“ Aha ! I see how it is. Miss Alice ; you think I 
am not sufiiciently attenuated to require such food as 
agreed so well with you.” 

“ Why, I lived mostly on milk,” she replied. 

“Yes, and I see you are thinking of the words of 
Holy Writ, ‘Milk for babes, and meat for strong 
men,’ ” responded the good-natured doctor. 

“Doctor,” asked Alice, in a confldential tone, as 
she drew closer to his side, “ Isn’t papa better ? ” 

“Better ! Yes, ever so much ; and so are you.” 

“ Doctor, do you know they want to take my little 
girl away from me again ? ” asked Mr. Hamilton, 
drawing Alice toward him, and holding her in a closer 
embrace. 

“Take her away! Well, she don’t amount to much. 
Let her go. What benighted intellect can possibly 


Light Ahead. * 257 

induce them to want such a worthless little chit as 
she is ? ” 

Mrs. Hamilton briefly repeated the proposition 
which Mrs. Morrison had made to her the previous 
evening, namely, that Alice should go to Brookline, 
one of the beautiful suburban towns which environ 
Boston, to live in the family of Mrs. Ormsbee, and 
attend a school which enjoyed a high reputation, in 
company with her daughters and Maud. 

After listening patiently to the matter, as also to 
Alice’s reasons for wishing to go, as given by her 
mother. Dr. Monroe turned his laughing eyes full 
upon the little girl, with a comical look, which 
melted her thoughtful expression into a bright smile. 

“ Whew ! A strong-minded woman ! Heaven 
forefend! Fancy Alice, a lank woman, with blue 
spectacles, always en deshahille^ hair cropped in her 
neck, inky fingers, slip-shod shoes, and all the et- 
ceteras of a literary woman. Bah ! Fancy the old 
doctor going to see bas-lleu — afraid of his life, lest 
every word will be weighed in the balance, and found 
wanting, saying inwardly, ‘ From all literary women, 
good Lord, deliver us ! ’” 

Alice laughed immoderately at this uninviting 
picture, and then exclaimed, 

O, doctor, I never could be like that ! Are all 
the women who write such nice books, and think so 
much about angels and flowers, and every thing beau- 
tiful, so disgusting ? They can’t be ! O, I know, you 
17 


258 


Light Ahead. 


are laiigliing at me,” site cried, as she caught the 
amused look in his twinkling eye. 

“ Laughing at you ! of course I am. We shall see 
you some of these days with ink spots on your gown 
as big as a silver dollar. But come, you haven’t told 
me yet how you managed to spend nine weeks in the 
wilderness.” 

‘‘Wilderness!” she echoed. “No wilderness, I 
assure you, doctor. Why, it is a lovely place. And 
I had such a good time. But do you know what I 
liked better than any thing else ? ” 

“ No,” he answered ; “ what could that possibly 
have been ? ” 

“ My garden ! ” she replied, triumphantly. “ O, 
Dr. Monroe, I had such lovely flowers there, and I 
named them, and then I used to hold conversations 
with them ; and I used to fancy that the}" whispered 
such beautiful things to me, and when their fragrance 
came to me on the air, I imagined it was a sweet 
voice talking to me. There was a tall, stately lily, 
that always looked so pure and lovely. I called it 
‘ mamma and then, right next, was a tall white 
carnation tied up on sticks, and it was so pale and 
delicate — that was ^papa^ because it always made 
me think of him as he looked when I went away, 
propped up by pillows, and so pale. Then I had a 
forget-me-not ; that was Mabel.” 

“ Well, well !” exclaimed the doctor, “your forget- 
me-not was of but little use if it did not induce you 


Light Ahead. 


250 


to remember me. I should think I might have had a 
place in your thoughts.” 

“ O, you did ! You did ! I did remember you,” 
she replied, laughing. “ There was a big pink peony, 
that always looked up at me with such a good-natured 
face, that I called it Dr. Monroe.” 

A burst of laughter followed this confession, re- 
covering from which the good doctor exclaimed, 

“Well, well ! Then I am a big blushing peony, am 
I ? Complimentary, Miss Alice. Perhaps you also 
meant to suggest that the language is applicable to 
me. Not so far out of the way, either. I always 
was considered an exceedingly bashful young man.” 

“ Come, A1 ! ” exclaimed Charlie, “ I want you to 
come and see Frisky eat his luncheon.” 

“Who is Frisky?” asked the doctor, catching the 
boy, and intercepting his rapid progress toward Alice. 
“I think that would be a good name for you, my 
young fellow ! ” 

“ O, Frisky is my rabbit,” answered the boy, good 
naturedly. “ Come on, Al.” 

“Now, doctor,” said Mrs. Hamilton, as the two 
children vanished, “ I want your opinion about this 
matter ; would it be wise for us to make the arrange- 
ment of which I spoke ? ” 

“ Wise ! Of course it would be wise. Why, my 
dear lady, it is just the very thing. Couldn’t be bet- 
ter if I had planned it out of my own astute brain. 
Don’t you see all the advantages of the plan ? Let 


260 


Light Ahead. 


us enumerate them. In the first place, considering 
the question from a physical stand-point — that, you 
know, is a doctor’s natural outlook. Well, then, the 
benefit of living, for the greater part of the year, 
where she could inhale pure, fresh air, would be in- 
calculable. That is precisely what she needs. Her 
blood lacks oxygen, which will, of course, be more 
liberally supplied in a suburban town, than in the 
midst of a crowded city. Then the contact with 
strangers, especially those of her own age, will do 
much toward toning down the fine edges of that 
super-sensitiveness, which forms so large a compo- 
nent part of her organization. Pardon me, but if 
she were to remain at home, her intercourse would 
be, almost exclusively,- with those who are so much 
of her own stamp, that the tendency would rather be 
deepened and intensified, if that were possible.” 

“ But, doctor, one great feature of the case to me is, 
that she would be with cultivated Christian people. I 
could not bear the idea of her living with a coarse, vul- 
gar family. It would be positive suffering to her.” 

‘‘ Hor I, my dear madam, not at aU — not at all ; 
but, believe me, Alice has too much of that element 
for her happiness. Much as we, from our superior 
heights of education and refinement, look down, 
mayhap with pity, more often, I fear, with contempt, 
upon the coarse, uncultured masses, I believe they 
are by far happier than those w'lose refined hyper- 
sensitiveness renders them keenly alive to every 


Light Ahead. 261 

grammatical error, or coarse word, to say nothing of 
the constant attrition of daily life.” 

“Yon are undoubtedly right,” replied Mrs. Ham- 
ilton. “ There can be no question that those persons 
who are not shocked by expressions that would be 
positive torture to many ears ; who can unjoy, or at 
least gloss over, an unseemly jest ; in whose hearts an 
unkind word, or a cutting sarcasm finds but slight 
lodgment, are the happier portion of the community. 
But you will allow, doctor, that while the keen edge 
of unkindness wounds them less deeply, they also 
lose the exquisite delight which those of higher tone 
andf culture realize in the gratification of their tastes. 
Then, too, take into consideration its effect upon con- 
science. The possessor of a highly sensitive con- 
science is more pure and lovely than one in whom 
it lies smoldering, and upon which no breath of en- 
lightenment has blown to kindle it into a living 
flame. Because your theory is correct, in the main, 
you certainly would not have poor human nature 
remain in the depths of ignorance, lest an element 
of unhappiness be developed in them. You surely 
would not prohibit the education of the masses as a 
means of reforming and elevating the race ? ” 

“By no means. Do not misunderstand me, or for 
one moment imagine that I depreciate education, or 
that refinement which is its outgrowth ; I admire it 
in Alice exceedingly ; but I confess to you that I 
have often trembled for her happiness in future 


262 


Light Ahead 


years, for unavoidable contact with tlie world, which 
is not always careful of the feelings of others, may 
sometimes bring her pain. You will grant, I think, 
Mrs. Hamilton, that the exquisite delights of wdiich 
you speak are but the occasional flashes which scin- 
tillate upon us at intervals — sometimes long inter- 
vals, too — while we are daily, nay, hourly, beset by 
annoyances, petty, it may be, but all the more exas- 
perating for that very reason. Why, a man can tol- 
erate a lion, because he is a respectable quadruped ; 
but these insinuating small fry that infest the air, 
inserting their pestiferous little bills into one's flesh, 
and Ailing the ear with their discordant sounds, are 
beyond endurance." 

“I don’t know about the validity of that state- 
ment," laughed Mrs. Hamilton; “I am somewhat 
of the opinion that his leonine majesty might assert 
his supremacy in a somewhat summary manner." 

“ I think it quite possible,” responded the doctor, 
“ that I might not care to grapple with the king of 
beasts; but we can flght a respectable foe, even 
though he be a formidable one. But, seriously, my 
dear lady, you will acknowledge that to the highly- 
wrought, nervous temperament — for excessively sen- 
sitive people are usually of a nervous organism — the 
little annoyances of life, with their corrosive power, 
the hasty word, caustic, perhaps, but regretted as 
soon as spoken, ruffles the calmness and serenity of 
the wounded heart ; and as these things are constantly 


Light Ahead. 


263 


occurring, and we liave no shield with which we can 
cover ourselves, we must suffer, more or less, accord- 
ing to the delicacy or toughness of our mental and 
moral fiber.” 

“ There is much truth and justice in your remarks, 
doctor ; but do you forget the fact that there is a neu- 
tralizing — nay, better than that, a sanctifying — power, 
which transmutes these things into an elixir of spirit- 
ual life, and fixes the heart with firm reliance on that 
Friend who remembers our infirmities and deals so 
gently with us ? ” 

“ No, I neither forget nor repudiate that fact. 
Indeed, it would be impossible for me to do so, as 
its manifestation has been too frequently brought 
before me to allow it ever to slip from my mind.” 

“ Speaking of happiness,” said Mr. Hamilton, who 
had hitherto been a silent listener, “ you have had a 
wide field of observation, doctor, what does your ex- 
perience prove ? What is or would be the result if 
a comparison were instituted between Christians and 
those who serve, not Clirist, but the world ? Or, in 
other words, what estimate do you place upon their 
happiness whose ‘ house is built upon the sand ? ’ ” 

‘‘ It is not worth that, sir,” he replied, emphatic- 
ally snapping his fingers. “ A bubble, a mere bub-^ 
ble, a puff of wind, a breath of air, and it is gone— 
vanished in utter nothingness.” 

“Do you think,” returned Mr. Hamilton, “that 
the devotees of this world are really happy while the 


264 Light Ahead. 

sources of enjoyment remain, or is it merely super- 
ficial ? ” 

“Effervescent, sir, the froth on the surface, but 
less below — excitement, day-dreams, a restless, facti- 
tious gayety, which they try to pass off for the true 
coin ; but it is spurious ; there is no doubt of it. It 
has not the ring of the genuine metal.” 

“ I often think,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “ of Sir Guy 
Morville’s definition of happiness : ‘ Gleams from a 
brighter world, too soon eclipsed or forfeited.’ ” 

^ “ Yes,” rejoined the doctor, “ that has been in my 
mind a great many times, and I have often thought 
that, if I might be allowed to do so, I would like to 
offer an amendinent on that sentiment, rendering it, 

‘ Gleams from a brighter world, soon to be merged 
in its more full-orbed glory.’ But I ” he exclaimed, 
rising, and looking at his watch, “ I must go ! Some 
of my patients have been looking for me for the last 
hour, while I have been enjoying myself talking to 
two sensible persons who know what they are talking 
about, which is not true of every body. When does 
Alice go ? Hot just yet, I suppose.” 

“Ho. Mrs. Morrison received a letter from her 
sister yesterday, in which she learned that Mr. Orms- 
bee expects to be in Hew York the first week in 
October, and Alice will accompany him when he re- 
turns home.” 


CHAPTEE XV/ 


T ’HOMME propose, et Dien dispose.” Mr. 

Jj Ormsbee, being seriously indisposed for sev- 
eral days, was unable to visit the city, according to 
agreement ; but Dr. Parker, who had engaged to 
occupy one of the Boston pulpits about the time 
proposed for Alice’s departure, offered himself as her 
escort. Mrs. Ormsbee was anxious that she should be 
punctual, and feeling that too much time had already 
been lost, having only returned home the previous 
week, sffe desired to place her daughters in school at 
once, so Dr. Parker’s offer was gratefully accepted. . 

The sultry dog-days had passed, and September, 
with its mellow beauty, was on the wane, and with 
its decline came also the close of Alice’s stay at home. 
Mrs. Dunb^, who had entered heartily into the plan, 
had generously supplied her wardrobe with every 
article which could possibly be needed. 

“ For you know, Isabel,” she said, earnestly, “ the 
child going among strangers, and we want our 
Allie to make as good an appearance as the best of 
them. There will be no sweeter face, I promise you, 
and I intend that she shall be dressed in such a man- 
ner as to adorn her beauty.” 


266 


Light Ahead. 


‘‘ Ah, Mabel, dear,” was the smiling reply, “ if she 
only possesses the adornment of that ‘ meek and quiet 
spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price,’ I 
think I can be content.” 

“ Meek and quiet ! ” repeated Mrs. Dunbar. ‘‘ She 
has those qualities in abundance, I should say.” 

“IS’ay, Mabel,” was the rejoinder of her friend, 
“she seems to us very gentle and amiable, I grant 
you, but there is something more than these natural 
characteristics required, dear, to render us acceptable 
to Him, in whose sight ‘the heavens are not clean.’ 
Our own merit, however great, can never purchase 
our salvation. That must be the free gift of God, 
through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ, our Sav- 
iour.” 

Mrs. Hamilton had often observed in this hitherto 
worldly woman a tenderness on this subject, and an 
evident desire for information, which, with the nat- 
ural perversity or diffidence of the human heart, she 
as evidently tried to veil under an assumed indiffer- 
ence or gayety of manner. This morning, however, 
her desire for a conversation was quite manifest, and 
she herself continued it by saying, thoughtfully, and 
with some embarrassment of manner, 

“ There is one thing, Isabel, which I do not under- 
stand.” 

“ Are you alone there, think you, Mabel ? Do any 
of us understand the mystery of God manifest in the 
flesh ? But, if you will explain your difficulty, per- 


Light Ahead. 


267 


liaps I may be able to assist you in some way to solve 
the problem ; or, if it be one which is insoluble, even 
to the keenest intellect, we must take it upon trust ; 
or, more properly, must accept it, because it is in- 
dorsed by the best and truest of all indorsers.” 

“ Isabel,” was the subdued reply, “ it may appear 
strange to you, but I have never been able to under- 
stand how the death of Christ could save you and 
me, for instance, from the penalty of our sins. Do 
not think I doubt it. I do not. I believe it with all 
my heart, and I do not mind acknowledging to you 
that this subject is in my mind almost constantly.” 

“If, as you say, you believe it with all your heart, 
why do you hesitate to avail yourself of it ? It must 
be a personal matter between your God and your 
own heart. Make it so, dearest, and end this miser- 
able warfare. Your better feelings, animated by the 
Holy Spirit, are struggling with the sinful tenden- 
cies of your nature. Let them gain the ascendency, 
Mabel dear, and respond to that loving invitation, 
‘ My daughter, give me thy heart.’ ” 

“ Does not the Bible say something about being 
willing, but not knowing how ? That is just my 
case.” 

“ Yes. Paul says, ‘ For to will is present with 
me ; but how to perform that which is good, I find 
not.’” 

“ As I told you, I cannot understand the atonement, 
and then, even if I did understand it, I have no idea 


268 


Light Ahead. 


in what the acceptance of it consists. I am all in 
the dark, like a benighted mariner, with neither com- 
pass nor chart to"^ide me.” 

“ Do not say that, Mabel. You have within reach 
of your hand the only chart you need. Kemember 
the testimony of the psalmist : ‘ Thy word is a lamp 
unto my feet, and a light unto my path.’ ” 

“ Isabel,” rejoined Mrs. Dunbar, “ see here. If you 
could die for me, or I for you, the one who made 
the sacrifice could not purchase salvation for the other. 
We are each responsible for our own acts; how, then, 
can the death of one person secure the redemption 
of a whole world, nay, for aught we know, of myriads 
of worlds ? ” 

“ You forget, dearest, the one fundamental fact, 
which underlies the whole superstructure. Indeed, 
Mabel, you are reasoning in a circle ; however wide 
a scope your thoughts take, you invariably return to 
the point from which you started, and will assuredly 
continue to do so until you take into consideration 
the immense, vital difference between your supposi- 
tious sacrifice and the genuine one offered on Cal- 
vary. .Dear Mabel, you have entirely lost sight of 
the divinity of the Great Sacrifice. You say truly, 
that the death of either of us could- not avail for the 
other, for the reason that we are both alike sinners.” 

“ Of course, I believe that Christ was the Son of 
God,” interrupted Mrs. Dunbar, quickly. 

“ Yes, dear, you believe it with your intellect, but 


Light Ahead. 


269 


your heart has not as yet taken Him as your own di- 
vine, personal Saviour — just as really your Saviour 
as though you were the only sinner in his vast uni- 
verse. There are two kinds of faith, you know, Ma- 
bel — a mere intellectual belief, according to which 
we look upon him simply as we do upon any other 
historical character. We never saw him, neither did 
we ever see Julius Caesar, or Alexander the Great, 
yet we believe in their existence, because history tells 
us that such individuals once existed, and we accept 
certain acts of their lives as fixed facts. Just so the 
great mass of the human family accept the God-man 
— a mere intellectual acknowledgment that such a 
person once lived and died, the Great Sufferer in the 
scene of Calvary. But there is also a precious, sav- 
ing faith, by which we apprehend and take to our 
own hearts this blessed surety for our acceptance and 
justification with the Father.” 

Mrs. Dunbar made no reply, and Mrs. Hamilton 
proceeded : 

“Here the glory of the sacrifice is manifested, 
because Jesus Christ, being God, the Son of the 
Father, and his equal in power and glory, left his 
throne and took upon him our fiesh, becoming of a 
dual nature, his human nature rendering him a fit and 
perfect sympathizer with us, in every thing, sin ex-^ 
cepted, and his Godhead made that absolutely sinless 
character the only acceptable offering. You can very 
readily see, that no taint of corruption could mingle 


270 


Light Ahead. 


with the atonement, or it would have been insufficient 
to fulfill the Father’s requirement of compensation 
for his broken law. Perhaps, if we look at the ety- 
mology of the word, it will assist you. Instead of 
dividing the syllables, as is usually done, a-tone-ment, 
suppose we make it, according to its true sense, at-one- 
7nent^ or the act by which we are made at one^ that is, 
at peace with God, through the divine propitiatory 
sacrifice. Does the matter appear any clearer to you 
now, Mabel ? ” 

“ Thank you, dearest Isabel. You have given me 
much assistance, and thrown some light on a subject 
which was very dark to me before.” 

“Pray for the enlightenment of the Holy Spirit, 
dear,” said Mrs. Hamilton, as her friend rose and left 
the room. 

The old and trite saying, “ Time and tide wait for 
no man,” proved true in Alice’s case, as in every 
other, and the first day of October was as prompt as 
usual in its recurrence. Faithfully it had kept its 
record, and faithfully it met its agreement with the 
world at large. To the young and happy it brought 
a fresh accession of joyous exhilaration ; to those 
whose years were already in “the sear and yellow 
leaf,” it proved a vivid reminder of the mellow au- 
tumn of their own lives. In its fresh, crisp air, the 
sick and suffering found a relief from the burning 
heat of the past weeks, a truce in every oxygenated 
gale, while those who were consciously drawing near 


Light Ahead. 


271 

to the gates of the grave realized that no return of its 
gorgeous beauty would greet their mortal vision. 

To Alice it brought a rush of conflicting feelings. 
With tender thoughts of home and friends were 
mingled dreams of school life— an intense thirst for 
the acquisition of knowledge, and aspirations for the 
future ; while, with a sudden pang, the possibility of 
her father’s death during her absence would flash 
across her mind, almost causing her to regret her de- 
cision. Then hope, with its talismanic touch, would 
change the scene, by presenting before her, in glowing 
colors, the goal toward which her ambition pointed. 

So, with a swelling heart, but a brave and calm 
exterior, she found herself ready to accompany Dr. 
Parker to the new scenes to which her vivid imag- 
ination had already given form and coloring. 

“Well, Miss Alice,” said Dr. Monroe, as he shook 
hands at parting, “ I will try to look less like a great 
blushing peony when next we meet. I have no doubt 
a residence in Boston will make you more critical 
than ever, and I shall have to study to tone down my 
obesity and high color to suit your fastidious taste.” 

“ O, Dr. Monroe, don’t ! ” she said, earnestly. “ I 
think you are just right as you are.” 

“Ha, ha!” laughed the good-natured doctor ; “so 
you admire peonies, do you? Well, a tinge of their 
rosy hues might do you no harm ; though, I believe,” 
he added, as he pinched her cheek, “that literary 
women are always pale and lank ; aint they, Parker ? ” 


272 


Light Ahead. 


“Generally, I believe they are, doctor,” he replied. 
“ My acquaintance with the genus has inclined me to 
be of your opinion.” 

“Yes,” responded the doctor, relapsing into a seri- 
ous tone ; “ they study and think too hard and too 
much, take too little exercise, and, as a natural conse- 
quence, use up their brain power too soon. As a rule, 
their physical structure is out of proportion and 
sympathy with the seething caldron which we call 
hrain, and utterly unable to cope with its furnace-like 
working. Hence the y^eak, pale, attenuated body, 
which is being gradually worn away by the unnatural 
friction. If these women could go into the field and 
toss over the fragrant hay, reveling in God’s bright, 
joyous sunshine, and filling their langs with the pure 
air of heaven as it comes fresh from the upper realm, 
nine tenths of them would get some color in their 
cheeks and some fiesh on their bones ; but, no, they 
stay in the house, and think, until they are as nearly 
transparent as that glass,” he added, pointing to a 
plate of ground glass in the door near him. “ So you 
see, Miss Alice, blooming looks and authorship don’t 
go together,” he continued, as he handed her into the 
carriage. 

Alice replied to his raillery only with a quiet 
. smile, and soon found herself within the sound of the 
shrieking of engines, in the midst of a bustling crowd 
hurrying hither and thither to all points, and on as 
many missions. 


Light Ahead. 


2Y3 


"While Br. Parker was securing the tickets Alice 
found occupation in studying the various phases of 
human nature, usually so conspicuous at such places. 
Among those who most attracted her attention were a 
lady and a gentleman, the former of whom, being of odd 
and somewhat antiquated appearance, formed the nu- 
cleus around which her thoughts clustered. Although 
the lady and her companion were direct antipodes, it 
was evident, from several little interchanges of graceful 
courtesy, so beautiful in married life, that they were 
husband and wife, as also that they had not advanced 
to the fashionable stage of utter indifference, nay, we 
had almost said, of bare toleration. Alice’s imagina- 
tion was sorely taxed to discover an alchemy which 
would fuse such, apparently, incongruous elements 
into what, to her unfledged ideas of romance, seemed 
a harmonious whole. 

She was so much engaged weaving her tissue of 
pretty fictions, in which these two persons largely 
figured, having invested her heroine with a halo of 
Christian graces in whose reflection her unprepossess- 
ing exterior was entirely lost sight of, that she was 
utterly unconscious of Br. Parker’s approach until the 
slender threads of her thoughts were snapped asunder 
by a pleasant voice at her side saying, cheerily, 

‘‘ I beg your pardon for leaving you so long alone, 
but it was unavoidable ; I had to wait my turn. Ah ! 
did I frighten you, little one ? ” he asked, observing 

her sudden start. 

18 


274 


Light Ahead. 


“ O no, sir,” she answered, smiling, as she rose to 
follow her companion, casting behind her a look ex- 
pressive of keen regret that her imaginative fabric 
must remain incomplete. 

After she was seated in the cars, however, and the 
bustle attendant upon departure had ceased, her’ mind 
was at liberty to resume its former employment, and, 
after having disposed of her principal characters to 
her satisfaction, her thoughts wandered to the scenes 
whither she was bound. She sat a long time in si- 
lence, her heart too full to allow her to be a very 
voluble companion. 

Dr. Parker, while appearing to be wholly engrossed 
with his newspaper, cast frequent furtive glances at 
the pale, intellectual face beside him. 

“What subject can possibly be so absorbing that 
you cannot vouchsafe a word of conversation to your 
forlorn traveling companion ? ” he asked, smiling. 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she replied, with an effort 
to recover herself. “I didn’t think you were very 
forlorn. I supposed your newspaper was company 
enough.” 

“Judging me out of your own wise little head,” he 
responded, playfully, “you imagined, because your 
thoughts furnished you sufficient company, that my 
paper was performing the same friendly service for 
me, did you? Bad logic — aground untenable. Besides, 
that is a violation of Scripture, which says, expressly, 
‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’ ” 


Light Ahead. 


275 


“Excuse me, Dr. Parker,'' she rejoined, with a 
bright smile, “but isn't that just what you are doing? 
It seems to me if I am guilty, so are you." 

“Ah, ha!" he responded, “I find I am dealing 
with an acute little logician. I shall have to study 
my points. But you were in very deep thought, just 
now? Suppose you imagine me your father con- 
fessor, and make me the repository of these very sage 
reflections. That is what all good Catholics do, you 
know." 

“ Yes," she answered, decidedly, “ but I am not a 
Catholic, and God is my confessor." 

“Do you mean to say?" he asked, “that you 
would never, under any cii’cumstances, confess to 
any other than God ? " 

“ O no, sir," she responded, quickly ; “ if I had dis- 
obeyed papa, or mamma, or in any way hurt their feel- 
ings, I would acknowledge it, and ask their forgive- 
ness. If I had offended you, sir, I would say, ‘ Dr. 
Parker, I have done wrong; I am sorry; will you 
pardon me ? ’ Indeed, I don't know but I ought to 
do so now," she added, with a tremulous smile. 

“ For what, my dear child ? " asked he, in a tone 
of much surprise. “I am quite positive that you 
have not transgressed any law, known or unknown, 
since you have been under my charge. Your con- 
duct has been irreproachable." 

“I am very glad you think so, sir, but my con- 
science tells me that I was slightly rude to you a 


276 


Light Ahead. 


few moments ago. I am very sorry she added, art- 
lessly. “ Will you forgive me ? ” 

“You must possess a very sensitive conscience, 
indeed, if it accuses you of any misdemeanor. I 
have not detected the slightest, but be assured that, 
if any has been committed, my forgiveness is fully 
and freely accorded. Indeed, little one, you may 
accept it, as a foregone conclusion, for I can scarcely 
imagine you to be guilty of any act which would 
forfeit my warmest approbation.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” she replied, with a frank smile ; 
“ you see I have made you my father confessor, after 
all, and now I don’t mind telling you what I was 
thinking of, if you are not too tired to listen to — ” 
“O, no!” he interrupted, laughing; “I suppose 
they referred to your last new dress; or whether 
mamma had packed your doll in your trunk.” 

“ No, indeed,” she rejoined, quickly, “ I have done 
playing with dolls; I have something else to do. 
And I wasn’t thinking of my dresses at all. Dr. 
Parker, I was trying to imagine what my school life 
will be, and wondering what I shall study.” 

“Well, my dear little girl, allow me to say that 
your school life, as are all our lives, to a greater or less 
degree, will be very much what you make it. Does 
that appear like a startling or a presumptuous state- 
ment, Alice? Kemember, I am not leaving God out of 
the question. I believe that he orders and rules all 
events, but I also believe that, all things being equal. 


Light Ahead. 


2Y7 


we are, so to speak, the artificers of our own lives, 
and for this reason. We may make things pleasant, 
or the reverse, just according to the spirit which we 
carry around with us.” 

“I think I know what you mean,” she replied. 
“You think that if we are gentle and kind, and al- 
ways thoughtful, we shall find others so to us.” 

“ Exactly,” he responded, pleased with her clear 
and ready appreciation of his words ; “ that is just as 
true as is the fact that if we go through life with a 
grim visage, like an ugly cur, snapping and snarling, 
we must expect snapping and snarling in return. 
One of our popular preachers says, ‘All men are full 
of dogs. Temper is a gnarly cur ; destructiveness is 
a bull-dog ; combativeness is a hound, that runs, and 
barks, and bites. We are full of dogs. Thousands 
of men are set to barking, and thousands of men are 
set venomously to biting, because that which is bad 
in them is so treated, that it is roused up.’ I believe 
he is right, and I think experience proves it so.” 

Alice made no response, and he continued, 

“ Now, in reference to the other topic — your stud- 
ies. Of course your teachers will decide that, but you 
will permit me to make a few suggestions which 
may possibly be of some assistance to you. To 
commence, then, you have not a very robust physical 
organization, my little friend, and as eleven years is 
not a very advanced stage of existence, 1 should say 
that you have abundant time to lay a firm foundation 


2Y8 


Light Ahead. 


of physical health and strength before you attempt 
to tax the brain too severely. Walk and run in the 
open air, my dear child. Inflate your lungs, inhale 
all the oxygen you can ; you will find that a prime 
invigorator. Eat well, sleep well, be cheerful and 
happy, and, I trust, you will grow better and 
sti’onger. If you are careful to strengthen this body 
you will lay a good foundation, on which you can 
raise an intellectual structure, of fair and beautiful 
proportions, and you will enjoy your edifice when it 
is raised ; but, depend upon it, a frail body robs life 
of much of its sweetness. Suppose you give me an 
outline of wliat you have studied. 

“ Well,” she answered, thoughtfully, “I have been 
nearly haK through Brown’s Grammar, have studied 
history and geography, commenced Latin, and — ” 

“ Yes,” he interrupted, “that will do. You know 
something of the fundamental rules, I suppose.” 

“O yes, sir! I have been nearly through ‘per- 
centage.’ I have done a good many examples in 
interest, too, finding the interest by aliquot parts.” 

“ Whew ! ” whistled Dr. Parker. “ Well, my little 
girl, if I were your teacher, I would place a stone 
— a good heavy one, too — upon your mental stature, 
so that you should grow no more for the next six 
months, at least. I would allow you to study nothing 
new, if study you must, but would see to it that your 
mental digestive apparatus had fully disposed of all 
that conglomerate mass.” 


Light Ahead. 


279 


“ But, sir, I understand it all ; papa taught me, 
and he was very thorough. He never allowed me 
to leave a single example until I could explain every 
part of it. He said ladies ought to be familiar with 
all the business rules.” 

“And he is quite right. But I would have you 
rest upon your present acquirements for a time. Take 
your mental aliment in small quantities, and be care- 
ful to masticate it well. You will gain more varied 
and extensive information by reading instructive 
books, than you will by too closely adhering to your 
text-books. One word on that point, my dear child. 
Read only those books which will elevate and ennoble 
the whole tone of your mind and heart.” 

“ Do you think it wrong to read novels ? ” 

“ Hovels, strictly so-called, I would utterly ignore. 
Those silly, vapid love stories, which fill the minds 
and hearts of young girls and boys with a weak, ro- 
mantic sentimentalism, are pernicious alike to the 
morals and the happiness. Occasionally, you may 
have put into your hands, by some judicious friend, 
a work which is couched in pure and beautiful lan- 
guage, and whose moral is good. Do not hesitate to 
read it, if you are sure of the wisdom of your ad- 
viser; but no pure young girl, of unformed mind, 
should read all the pernicious mass of trash with 
which our cities are deluged. Make your selection 
by the advice and under the direction of some 
wise, true friend. Be careful not to make too rapid 


280 


Light Ahead. 


strides, but take time to tliink carefully over every 
page, before you turn the leaf, for in the mental, as 
in the physical, structure, it is not the quantity of 
food which is taken, but its quality, and the amount 
which assimilates with either body or brain and be- 
comes a part of ourselves, which is a benefit to us.” 

Here Alice’s attention was attracted by the appear- 
ance of one of the two persons who had so much in- 
terested her at the depot, ^nd, gently touching the 
elbow of her companion, she said, 

“ I think, sir, that gentleman is wishing to speak 
to you.” 

Dr. Parker turned and offered a courteous greeting 
to the stranger, then, reversing the back of the seat 
in front, which was unoccupied, he motioned him to 
be seated. 

“ Perhaps you do not recognize me, sir ? ” 

“ I do, indeed, perfectly,” was the unhesitating re- 
ply, and to prove it I will recount to you the circum- 
stances under which we first met. I had the honor 
of performing the marriage service for you a few 
weeks ago at my house, in Thirty-fifth Street.” 

“ Ha, ha ! Your memory is good, sir. Perliaps 
you also recollect a little circumstance connected] 
with that occasion, which, by the way, made me the 
happiest of men ? ” 

“ There my recollection is at fault,” was the some- 
what puzzled rejoinder. “ I hope, however, Mrs. — ” 

“ Horton,” supplied the listener. 


Light Ahead. 281 

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I hope Mrs. Horton is 
quite well.” 

“ Quite well, thanks, quite well. She is on board 
the train, and, with your permission, I shall do my- 
self the honor of presenting her before we leave.” 

“ Do so, by all means,” returned Dr. Parker, with 
a slight inclination of his head. 

“ In the meantime, perhaps, you will do me the 
favor to examine this document. It may refresh 
your recollection. I hope,” he added, rising and 
bowing politely, “ that you will find it entirely sat- 
isfactory.” 

Without waiting for a reply he was gone. Dr. 
Parker turned the envelope over in his hands a mo- 
ment, and then, with a comical expression of mingled 
curiosity and incredulity, he broke the seal and dis- 
closed to view ten new, crisp ten-dollar bills. 

“A hundred dollars!” he exclaimed. “Well, 
generosity, like repentance, is better late than 
never.” 

Our clerical friend possessed descriptive powers of 
an almost inimitable character, and he now gave Alice 
an amusing account of the wedding, over which they 
both enjoyed a hearty laugh. 

When the cars stopped to give the passengers an 
opportunity for refreshments, Alice uncovered her 
basket and brought to view the tempting luncheon 
which Mrs. Dunbar had ordered to be prepared for 
her. 


282 


Light Ahead. 


Well, daughter,” asked her companion, what 
kind of beverage shall I get for you ? I always find 
solids somewhat difficult to dispose of without the 
assistance of some fluid. Will you have tea or 
coffee ? ” 

“Neither, thank you, sir; I have some milk. 
See,” she said, holding up a bottle of generous pro- 
portions. 

“ Ah, you are well supplied. Are you quite sure 
you will need nothing ? 1 believe I must have a cup 
of coffee.” 

“ O, indeed, I shall not ! Please do not get any 
thing to eat. I have plenty for both of us. Just 
see,” removing the snowy napkin, and displaying the 
sandwiches, cake, pie, and fruit. Part of it was in- 
tended for you. Dr. Parker. You know I could 
never eat all this.” 

“ But you haven’t the least idea to what an unlim- 
ited extent I shall make inroads upon your supply. 
Don’t I look like a gormandizer ? ” 

“ Not a bit. But eat all you like, please,” she said, 
in a pretty, pleading tone ; “ I shall need very little. 
My milk will be quite enough for me.” 

“ Thank you,” was the laughing reply ; “ your gen- 
erosity is unequaled. I think, however, if you will 
excuse me, I will get a cup of coffee, and return im- 
mediately to enjoy it in connection with your tempt- 
ing offer.” 

She nodded assent, and he hurried away. 


Light Ahead. 


283 


He was gone but a moment ; then was just reseat- 
ing himself, coffee-cup in hand, when he exclaimed. 
Ah, here are our friends ! How for the famous 
introduction.” 

Composing his face into an expression of becoming 
dignity, he exchanged a smiling salutation with his 
ruddy- faced friend, who, advancing, followed by the 
diminutive figure of his wife, stepped aside, and, with 
a gentle courtesy, as deferential as would have been 
his manner to a queen, said, 

“ Permit me. Dr. Parker, to make you acquainted 
with my wife, Mrs. Horton. My dear,” he contin- 
ued, “ no doubt you will recognize this gentleman as 
the one who, not long ago, performed for us an illy 
requited service.” 

The words, “ my wife,” were spoken in the tone of 
a man who was intensely pleased with and proud of 
his newly acquired possession, almost in the manner 
of a child with a just-received toy, while the allusion 
was so pointed as to call up a suspicion of a blush to 
the sallow cheek of his companion. 

Dr. Parker extended his hand, and acknowledged 
the introduction with his usual urbanity of manner, 
and then, turning to Alice, said, 

“ This is Miss Alice Hamilton, the daughter of an 
old friend and parishioner of my own, who is en route 
to school in Boston.” 

The little woman, although somewhat embarrassed, 
in passing through such a trying ordeal, deported 


284 


Light Ahead. 


herself in a lady-like way, and they proceeded to seat 
themselves vis-a-ms to Dr. Parker and Alice. Open- 
ing a basket of huge dimensions, Mr. Horton asked, 

“ Did you ever find any thing fit to eat in a res- 
taurant, sir ? ” Bah ! their fare is fit only for the 
lower animals.” 

“ Well, sir,” replied the gentleman addressed, 
“you know members of my profession are often 
obliged to travel, and, of course, are dependent 
upon such places for the sustenance which we all 
need, and I feel that, in justice to the fraternity, I 
ought to acknowledge that it might be worse, much 
worse.” 

“ You are guarded, sir, in your expressions, or else 
your experience has been much pleasanter than mine. 
I do not hesitate to call it execrable. Execrable ! ” 
he repeated. “ My little wife is a famous cook, and 
when I leave home, she gets me up a luncheon fit for 
a king, so I snap my fingers, metaphorically, at the 
whole herd of restaurateurs^ and dine sumptuously 
on the contents of my basket.” 

“ My husband is partial,” said the smiling little 
woman by his side, evidently pleased, as what woman 
is not, at words of praise from one she loves ; “ he 
only imagines that my cooking is better than that of 
others.” 

“ Hot so, Bessie,” he answered, giving her an af- 
fectionate look. “ And, to test the matter, I chal- 
lenge Dr. Parker’s opinion. You know ‘ the cloth ’ 


Light Ahead. 285 

are, proverbially, men of good judgment on these 
matters.” 

“You and Miss Alice must considerably overrate 
my gastronomical capacity,” replied the clergyman, 
smiling. “ You see,” pointing to Alice’s basket, 
“ the task she has already assigned me.” 

“ Nevertheless, I cannot consent to lose the verdict 
of a judge so competent to decide a question of such 
magnitude. Is not your interior arrangement con- 
structed of India-rubber? In that case it may be 
extended for my express accommodation.” 

“ Now, Rufus,” expostulated his wife, laying her 
wrinkled hand gently on his arm, “ don’t insist upon 
Dr. Parker doing that w^hich he doesn’t wish to do. 
It is unmannerly.” 

“ Unmannerly ! O no, my dear wife ; only im- 
pressive. Now, dominie, do try this slice of cake ; it 
wiU melt in your mouth.” 

Alice, also, was obliged to accept a generous slice 
of the delicious looking compound, and was fain to 
own that it was decidedly rich, and of a fine, delicate 
fiavor. 

“ My judgment most heartily approves of your 
husband’s decision, madam,” said Dr. Parker, with a 
courteous bow. “ I have seldom, even at a wedding, 
or when compounded by a professed confectioner, 
partaken of any thing more delicious.” 

“ Thank you,” she replied, simply. “ Rufus is very 
fond of good things, and I try to gratify his taste.” 


286 


Light Ahead. 


“ Try to tickle my palate, eli ? Isn’t slie a 
jewel ? ” 

“ Perhaps she shrewdly judges that to be the 
nearest and surest avenue to your pocket,” said the 
minister, laughing. ‘‘ Pardon me, Mrs. Horton, but 
I also am a married man, and have had some experi- 
ence in that line.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed the delighted husband. “ Ap- 
ropos of pockets, was the little affair of this morning 
satisfactory ? ” 

Entirely so, but I confess that it presents a prob- 
lem to my mind which taxes my mathematical pow- 
ers severely.” 

Looking at his wife with a comical glance, he 
answered, 

“Well, sir, you may remember that the amount 
which I placed in your hand on that memorable 
evening was small, ridiculously small ; but it was a 
whim of mine, sir, a mere whim. I am a man of 
whims, and I chuckled to myself and Mrs. Horton, as 
I imagined the blank expression which would pass 
over your face when your eyes met the insignificant 
one on the face of my poor little offering. But I did 
not mean it should rest there, and I amused myself by 
planning the sequel which I intended should follow.” 

“ Yes,” said his wife, laughing, “ he would pay no 
attention to me. He must carry out his odd fancy 
to the very last.” 

“Well, my dear, my odd fancy, as you are pleased 


Light Ahead. 


287 


to term it, has not resulted in any thing very disas- 
trous. Nothing has as yet been evolved from it 
more than a cozy chat with our reverend friend, 
which may be but the precursor of a life-long friend- 
ship, as I sincerely hope it will,” he added, with a 
bow. 

The doctor replied only by an answering bow and 
smile, and Mr. Horton continued, 

“ But, my dear sir, permit me to explain myself. 
I am a great admirer of the fair sisterhood, and 
pleased myself by fancying the gratification with 
which your good lady, who, I presume, in common 
with all other clergymen’s wives, is the recipient of 
her husband’s marriage fees, would accept the some- 
what more reasonable sum, which I hope will find 
its way to her purse. I hope she will adorn her 
pretty person with it, to her heart’s content and her 
husband’s unqualified admiration.” 

“ I will thank you, sir, in her name ; and allow 
me to assure you that she shall not long remain in 
ignorance of your generous gift — ” 

“Stop, sir, stop!” he interrupted. “Not a gift, 
only a grateful acknowledgment of an act which 
crowned the happiest day of my life.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


HE October day was drawing to its close. Al- 



i ready the lights of the city were glimmering in 
the distance, and the hum of its busy sounds begin- 
ning to fall upon the ear. Alice, wearied with the 
long ride and the chill night air, had considerably 
lowered her mental as well as her physical ther- 
mometer. Thoughts of home would intrude upon 
her, struggle as she might against them, and she 
found some difficulty in swallowing down the lump 
which would persist in rising in her throat. 

She had been very much amused by Mr. Horton’s 
sprightly and, to her, somewhat unusual style of 
conversation, and had remained almost a silent list- 
ener, forming her own conclusions, after her quiet 
fashion, and occasionally taking up the broken 
threads of the morning. 

Almost before she was aware the train was in the 
depot, and she found herself in the midst of the hur- 
rying crowd— jostled from side to side by those who 
are always eager to secure the first place. Mr. and 
Mrs. Horton had taken a cordial leave of Dr. Parker, 
after having invited him to make their house his 
home during his stay in the city, an invitation which 
he politely declined, as he preferred the freedom 


Light Ahead. 


289 


of hotel life to the restraints which visiting always 
imposes. 

Now that the diversion of their society had passed, 
and she stood, after night fall, alone with Dr. Parker, 
the almost deafening shouts of porters and carriage 
drivers resounding in her ears, her bravery tottered 
for a moment, but soon regained itself, as her com- 
panion said, in brisk, lively tones, 

‘‘ Cheer up. Miss Alice, you will soon be with your 
friends, and have an opportunity to rest after this 
wearisome day.” 

‘‘There is Mrs. Ormsbee, now!” she exclaimed, 
eagerly, as she caught a glimpse of her friend’s kind 
face, and heard the delighted exclamations of Nellie 
and Maud, who had accompanied her. The recogni- 
tion had been nearly simultaneous, and, hastening for- 
ward, she soon found herself inclosed in their warm 
embraces, with numberless kisses upon her brow, 
cheeks, and lips. 

Dr. Parker, after taking a birds’-eye view of the 
slender, lady-like figure, in its sable robes, immedi- 
ately formed his opinion of Alice’s friends and of her 
probable surroundings — at least, so far as to judge 
that her mother’s most tender solicitation would have 
nothing to dread for her in a residence with one 
whose appearance bespoke the refined, cultured lady. 

Taking advantage of Maud’s prolonged and enthu- 
siastic greeting, he stepped forward and extending 

his hand with a bow, said, 

19 


290 


Light Ahead. 


“Mrs. Ormsbee, I am quite sure. Allow me to 
introduce myself as Alice’s escort.” 

“Dr. Parker,” replied the lady, accepting the 
offered hand, with a graceful inclination, “ I am 
most happy to meet you, and return my thanks for 
your kindness to my little friend. It is quite evident 
that she has not suffered from inattention during her 
ride to day.” 

“ Pardon me, madam,” he replied, raising his hand 
as though to ward off her thanks ; “ not a word ; not 
a syllable upon that subject. I should feel like a de- 
faulter — appropriating funds which do not belong to 
him, I assure you. I should be receiving that to 
which I have no possible claim ; for, indeed, I have 
been the obliged party. I have been most delight- 
fully entertained by yonder intelligent little girl.” 

Mrs. Ormsbee smiled, and was about to reply, when 
Alice came shyly forward, saying, with a little embar- 
rassed laugh, 

“ I beg your pardon, Dr. Parker, I ought to have 
introduced you to my friend, Mrs. Ormsbee.” Then, 
turning to the lady, she continued, “ I am very much 
ashamed of myself for my nideness.” 

“ ITever mind, dear,” replied Mrs. Ormsbee ; “ Dr. 
Parker has already performed that ceremony for 
himself ; so don’t feel badly about it. But, come, the 
carriage is waiting, and both driver and horses will 
become impatient if we keep them waiting much 
longer.” 


Light Ahead. 


291 


Dr. Parker accompanied them to the carriage, and, 
after assisting them in,, said, 

“Miss Alice’s trunk has received due attention, 
and will probably be delivered in the morning.” 

He was about closing the door and making his 
adieu, when Mrs. Ormsbee laid her hand upon it to 
prevent the action. 

“ Ho, no. Dr. Parker,” she said, pleasantly, “ here 
is a reserved seat, I pray you take it and accompany 
us home to dinner.” 

He hesitated a moment, framing in his mind a 
polite and yet a truthful refusal, when she rejoined, 

“I assure you, I can accept no refusal. We have 
set our hearts upon having Dr. Parker for a guest, 
and he surely will not disappoint us. My husband 
has been quite ill for a week or two, and is just in 
that stage of convalescence when he is pining for 
some person upon whom he can vent his argumen- 
tative proclivities. I have exhausted all my re- 
sources, but, I believe, he thinks me a very inferior 
theologian. I tried to act as a safety-valve to carry 
off the surplus theological steam, of which he always 
has an abundant supply, but my poor powers have 
proved utterly inadequate to the emergency. He is 
waiting this moment, I have no doubt, with the 
keenest anxiety for the arrival of a disputant of supe- 
rior caliber. If there is one thing that Relights poor 
Fred’s soul more than another, I believe it is a theo- 
logical discussion.” 


292 


Light Ahead. 


“ That is promising ! ” replied Dr. Parker. “ It cer- 
tainly promises a test of my skill as a theologian, and 
rather a severe one, I fear. Your invitation is be- 
coming most attractive, Mrs. Ormsbee ; I accept your 
challenge, and will try ecclesiastical tilts with your 
husband with pleasure. I also must confess to a lik- 
ing for that sort of thing, and this opportunity is 
beyond my powers of resistance.” 

“ I am delighted ! ” was the animated reply. 
‘‘ Fred says my powers of persuasion are irresistible, 
and, you know, I am in duty bound to believe my 
husband.” 

“ Certainly,” he answered, laughing ; “ and I am 
going to prove to him that he is correct in his asser- 
tion. If he is equally so in his theological premises, 
I may find myself vanquished.” 

“ O, Allie ! ” exclaimed ITellie, after a moment’s 
silence, “ we had a letter from Aunt Annie yesterday, 
and she says that Uncle Ned has taken Tony in hand, 
and is going to help him learn to read, and papa has 
promised him that, if he will be a good boy, and try 
hard, he will bring him here and let him go to 
school, and then, if he is at all smart, he may enter 
his office and read law. Just imagine poor, ragged 
Tony turning out a great lawyer. He might. Isn’t 
that true, mamma ? ” 

“ Certainly,” was the reply. “ Some of our great- 
est men have risen from antecedents as obscure as 
his.” 


Light Ahead. 


293 


“Yes,” said Dr. Parker, “I once heard a history 
of one of onr foreign ministers, which interested me 
very much, as an illustration of the fact that innate 
intellectual power cannot remain hidden, or tram- 
meled by the circumstances with wLich it finds itself 
environed. This man was the son of a Western 
farmer, in the days when the West was not what it 
is now — a vast emporium of produce which finds its 
way to all parts of the country ; a section whose 
cities vie in wealth and magnificence with those of 
the older States of the Union. This was in the days 
when the West, where he first woke to life — the far 
West — was but a few, bare, scattering villages and 
immense farms, the cultivation of whose broad, rich 
acres was the highest ambition of their owners. 

“This boy, however, was endowed by Heaven 
with a capacity, and a corresponding desire for some- 
thing higher than following the plow, or driving the 
cows home and milking them. His father, who had 
spent all his life in turning with his plow the ‘ slug- 
gish clod,’ desired nothing higher for his son, and 
possessed no means of gratifying his ambition, had it 
existed. So the poor lad was kept at his distasteful 
employment. Put intellect laughs at obstacles, and 
the boy was determined to break the fetters which in- 
thralled him. There is one thing, young ladies, of 
which we may be morally certain. There is some- 
where in this vast universe a spot upon which God 
designs that we shall stand. It may be on the highest 


Light Ahead. 


294 : 

pinnacle of intellectual attainment, of militarj fame, 
of statesmanship, or whatever field of glory you 
choose to imagine, or it may be on a much lower 
plane, but in either case we are, in a certain sense, 
responsible for the position which we occupy. If we 
are content to remain, with the muck-rake in our 
hands, raking in the mire and filth of earth, we shall 
not be coerced into a higher sphere ; but if that which 
is within us impels and forces us to a nobler and 
worthier ambition, rest assured we shall find assist- 
ance. In other words, ‘ God helps those who help 
themselves.’ W^ell, this boy decided that the farm, 
while it might be a very good place, and farming a 
highly necessary occupation, presented no sphere of 
action, for him. What should he do ? Books he had 
none, not even a Bible. Of teachers he had the 
same meager supply. But the voice within him was 
calling, in trumpet tones, ‘ Go on ! don’t give up ! ’ 
After calm and mature deliberation his course was 
decided upon. He called upon the minister of the 
little hamlet nearest his father’s farm and represented 
his case to him, requesting the loan of some books. 
His request was cheerfully granted, and the good 
man’s library placed at his disposal. How do you 
think he studied those books? In a well-warmed, 
well-lighted library, with all its accessories to ease 
and comfort ? No, no ; not so ! ” 

“ I know ! ” exclaimed Maud. “ He sat by the kitch- 
en fire, and studied by the light of a tallow candle.” 


Light Ahead. 


295 


“IN’ot so bad,” answered tlie minister, laughing 
heartily. “ You are warm, O ! very warm, as I have 
heard children say when they were playing ‘ hide 
and seek,’ but you will have to guess again.” 

“I don’t know,” said Maud, “I’m sure, if that 
isn’t right.” 

“ What do you say. Miss Alice ? ” he asked, some- 
what curious to know what her theory would be. 

“ Perhaps he got up as soon as it was light and 
studied, or may be by fire-light, or moonlight.” 

“You are famous guessers,” he replied, laughing. 
“ I think you must have been born in the land of 
wooden nutmegs. Ho, Miss Alice, he did not study 
by moonlight, but your other suggestions are pretty 
nearly correct. He did rise very early, but was 
obliged to go immediately to his work on the farm. 
He managed, however, to find time, by curtailing his 
nooning, to go to the woods and secure pine-knots, or 
to the meadows for rushes, which he hoarded up for 
future use. When the days became short, and he 
could not see to read or study after his hard day’s 
work, which would have sent most boys to bed to 
forget their fatigues in sleep, he would light his pine- 
knot or his rush, and placing it in the capacious fire- 
place, stretch himself at full length upon the fioor, 
face downward, and study all the books which he 
could borrow from the doctor and the lawyer, as 
well as from his ministerial friend.” 

“ Of course, those libraries were extremely limited, 


296 


Light Ahead. 


altogether probably not comprising as many volumes 
as one of our city professional men can number. 
But he was not satisfied with this achievement. The 
thirst for knowledge, now awakened, was insatiable, 
and would not be easily slacked. So, barefoot and 
without a dollar in the world, he walked to the 
nearest college, a distance of several hundred miles, 
and being admitted to an audience with the presi- 
dent, he interested that gentleman so much that he 
promised him that his perseverance should be re- 
warded by as liberal an education as it was in the 
power of the institution to bestow. It was proposed 
that he should assume the post of janitor’s assistant, 
sweeping, making fires, blacking boots, etc., as some 
slight payment for his board and tuition. He grate- 
fully accepted the proposition and entered at once 
upon his duties. Considerable surprise was manifest- 
ed at the manner in which he passed his examination, 
particularly at his familiarity with certain subjects, 
upon which utter ignorance would have been far 
less a matter of wonder. Well, to cut my long story 
short, he passed through most creditably, and was 
graduated with high honors. He subsequently en- 
tered a law school, became a prominent lawyer in his 
own State, which by this time had assumed more 
respectable proportions as a State ; was sent to Con- 
gress by the district in which he resided, and, finally, 
received an appointment as minister to some foreign 
^ court. Kelate this story to the little boy in question, 


Light Ahead. 


297 


Miss Alice, and tell him that the whole broad 
realm of learning is before him, and that in this 
country, whose motto is equal brotherhood and 
equal rights, he may reach the highest point, if he 
possesses sufficient perseverance and well-directed 
energy.” 

Thus, in pleasant conversation, they rode onward 
until the carriage entered the in closure within which 
Mr. Ormsbee’s residence stood. Before the carriage 
stopped, Fannie’s merry voice was heard, as she 
came bounding down the steps of the broad piazza, 
and in a trice Alice was the recipient of a vigorous 
embrace, and several resounding kisses. 

“ O, Allie ! ” she exclaimed, impetuously, “ I 
wanted so much to go to meet you, and get the 
lirst kiss, but mamma would not allow me to, because 
she said Dr. — ” 

“ Fan,” cried I7ellie, approaching quickly, “ do let 
Alice go into the house ; she will take cold out 
here.” 

Fannie was silenced, and, catching her sister’s warn- 
ing gesture, saw, for the first time. Dr. Parker, stand- 
ing within earshot of her voice. 

The new-comers were taken right into this hos- 
pitable Christian home and made to feel as though 
their places had been awaiting them, and they alone 
were perfectly adapted to them. This w^as, indeed, 
a home, the heads of which, in all their intercourse 
with others, aimed always to act in accordance with 


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the principle of Saint Paul, “Let every one of us 
please his neighbor for his good to edification.” 
They sought the building up of the spiritual edi- 
fice, whose corner-stone is Christ Jesus. How much 
exists in the power of Christian courtesy to clear 
away harassing doubts, to reassure the diffident, to 
place the timid at ease, or to smooth the ruffied 
plumage. 

Mr. Ormsbee took his place at the head of the 
well-appointed dinner table, with its sumptuous 
viands, for the first time in two weeks. After as- 
suming her place as hostess, his wife said, play- 

fully. 

“My dear, I have warned Dr. Parker of your 
strong argumentative proclivities, and he is prepared 
to grapple with them, so I advise you to get your 
mental gymnastics in good order.” 

“ Dr. Parker and I may so nearly agree,” he re- 
plied, with a pleasant smile and bow, “ that I shall 
not require my mental gymnastics, as you call 
them.” 

“ Hever fear,” she retorted, gayly, “ you ^ill be 
sure to find some peg on which you can hang an 
argument.” 

“ I am going to preach a sermon to-morrow morn- 
ing,” replied the clergyman, turning toward Mrs. 
Ormsbee, with a smile, “ in which, I am afraid, your 
husband will find but few pegs. I regret exceedingly 
that I had not prepared one which would have fur- 


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299 


nished him wider scope for his controversial powers. 
However, as I am in utter ignorance of his views, I 
am not prepared to speak definitely.” 

“ Where do you hold forth to-morrow ? ” inquired 
Mr. Ormsbee. 

“ I have been honored with an invitation to preach 
at the Old South Church.” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Ormsbee, “ do you feel equal 
to riding so far ? ” 

“ By all means,” he replied. “ Please ring the bell, 
and we will order the carriage to-night, in order that 
there may be no delay. Dr. Parker will wish to be 
at church in good season.” 

“ That reminds me, sir,” said the latter, looking at 
his watch, “ that I have several things to attend to, 
and, with your permission, will take my departure, 
but hope to see you again before I take my final 
leave.” 

“ By no means,” answered the host. ‘‘ I insist that 
you make my house your home as long as pleases 
you. Go and come according to your own con- 
venience.” 

“ JSTow, doctor,” interposed the lively little hostess, 
“you recollect your promise ?”• 

“ My promise ! ” 

“ Yes, sir. Did you not promise to prove my hus- 
band’s assertion to be true '( T shall think it only half 
proven if you leave us now.” 

“ You have triumphed,” was the laughing rejoin- 


300 Light Ahead. 

der. “ I shall most certainly prove it, beyond con- 
troversy.” 

“ Be sure you do, or I shall use my wifely influ- 
ence to induce him to withdraw the case from your 
hands, and become the client of a more skillful 
jurist.” 

On the following morning Dr. Parker, Mr. and 
Mrs. Ormsbee, and Alice took an early start to at- 
tend the service at which the former was to officiate. 
!Nellie, having been indisposed for a day or two, re- 
mained at home, with Fannie for a companion. 

As they rode along the exhilarating air of the 
bright October morning seemed fresh from the 
fountain of life and purity, while the soft Sabbath 
stillness breathed a holy calm into the heart that was 
surely born of a higher sphere. 

After being seated Alice glanced around her, and 
a strange feeling of loneliness settled upon her as, 
save the two kind faces beside her, she looked only 
upon those whose features were utterly unfamiliar. 
When Dr. Parker ascended to the pnlpit, however, a 
glad thrill tingled throngh every nerve. She had 
attended upon his ministrations since her earliest 
recollection, and now he came to her as a harbinger 
of glad tidings. She had always loved and respected 
him almost beyond expression, but she now looked 
upon his noble, spiritual face with a much warmer 
affection, and a sense of proprietorship which com- 
forted and soothed her. She felt as though he 


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301 


belonged to her, a connecting link between her own 
heart and those which were beating in unison with 
it in the great Gotham from which she came. His 
prayer was an exponent of her own thought. It 
comprised a petition for all classes, all who needed 
the Father’s mercy, the Saviour’s mediatorial office, 
the Spirit’s sanctifying power ; the stranger, he, who 
far from home and kindred, found his thoughts turn- 
ing, with fond longing, toward the scenes of his 
childhood’s home. 

At the close of the preliminary services he read his 
text, in clear, ringing tones : For we are no more 
strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the 
saints, and of the household of God.” The discourse 
was a beautiful elaboration of the sentiment of the 
text. 

There was but little disposition for conversation 
manifested during the drive home, the thoughts just 
presented apparently engrossing all minds. 

At dinner the bright, smiling Mrs. Ormsbee had 
been watching her husband’s face with much curi- 
osity. Dr. Parker had forewarned him that his ser- 
mon would afford him but little controversial scope ; 
yet she was wondering if he were not taking up each 
thread with microscopic precision, and trying to weave 
a tissue, in whose meshes he might find that for 
which he sought, the theme of, at least, a seeming 
dissimilarity of views. 

‘‘ Fred is the best man in the world,” she thought. 


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“but he does love to make believe he differs from 
every body else, whether he does or not. I wonder 
what he’s thinking about now. I’ll warrant he’s 
building up some theory that will afford him the op- 
portunity I know he’s aching for.” 



CHAPTER XVII. 


M rs. ORMSBEE’S patience was not very severely 
tried. After the dessert was placed upon the 
table her husband’s cogitations exhaled themselves 
like perfume from a flower. 

“Well, doctor,” he began, “you spoke truly. You 
did, indeed, disarm me ; you left me utterly pegless, 
in fact. But what is better, much better, you have 
furnished me with food for pleasant and profltable 
contemplation. There was no room for quibble from 
alpha to omega. The points were well put and ably 
maintained, while the application was — well, just 
what it should be. So, notwithstanding the carping 
disposition for which my wife gives me credit, I find 
myself utterly without grounds for its exercise.” 

“ Xot carping, Fred, dear,” answered the lady, “ only 
a wee bit of the quality which phrenologists would 
dignify by the name of causality. You do love to 
reason.” 

“And with good effect,” he replied, laughing, “if 
my reason guided me in the prosecution of my mat- 
rimonial affairs.” 

“ Speaking of matrimonial affairs,” rejoined Dr. 
Parker, “ reminds me of a somewhat singular couple 


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whom I had the pleasure of launching on that broad 
sea a few weeks ago.” 

He then related the story with which we are al- 
ready familiar, with such furbishing of words and 
gestures as made its recital extremely ludicrous. 
From the wedding, in his own parlors, to the acci- 
dental meeting on the train, nothing was omitted; 
the pittance of a fee, and its subsequent munificent 
addition, all were detailed. Just as he was finishing 
his narrative a vigorous pull of the door-bell an- 
nounced the arrival of visitors. 

‘‘ There ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ormsbee, ‘‘ that must 
be Aunt Betsey and Uncle Bufus, for no one else ever 
comes on the Sabbath.” 

“ Aunt Betsey and Uncle Kufus ! ” Like a flash of 
lightning it darted through Dr. Parker’s head that 
these were the very names by which he had heard 
the parties of whom lie had been speaking address 
each other. Aunt and uncle of his kind entertainers ! 
Had he said any thmg which, upon reflection, he 
would regret? 

He glanced at Alice to see if she recognized the 
coincidence, and read at once in her speaking face 
the confirmation of his thought. He could recall 
nothing unkind in his remarks, but was fearful that 
in his love of fun and pleasantry he might have 
allowed this propensity too loose a rein, and indulged 
in some expressions which might wound a sensitive 
heart — a thing of which he would not be guilty, for 


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305 


ten thousand times the value of the hank note with 
which, on the morrow, he hoped to delight Susy’s 
heart. These thoughts passed rapidly through his 
mind, and by the time the veritable couple made 
their appearance, he had regained his equanimity. 

“ Ah ! Dr. Parker, good-evening, sir ; good-even- 
ing,” exclaimed Mr. Horton, advancing toward him. 
“ I had not the most remote idea of our rare, good 
fortune in meeting you. I was not aware, sir, that 
your destination was the house of my good niece and 
nephew here.” 

“ Hor was I aware of it, sir ; but the invitation of 
your good niece and nephew was so pressing, and 
withal so captivating, that I was very much in the 
condition of the moth who could not resist the light. 
Hot, however, with like consequences,” he added, 
laughing, as it stmck him that his comparison might 
not be very flattering. 

‘‘ Ah ! you blockhead,” he said to himself. “ You 
are determined to put your foot into it to-night. 
What has got into your silly pate ? ” 

These words were an aside, for his own benefit 
exclusively, and so, simultaneously with their indul- 
gence, he added, aloud, 

“ I am most happy to meet you, sir ; as also your 
good lady.” 

“ Mary, dear, I never told you of iny joke on 
the doctor, did I ? ” asked Mr. Horton. 

‘‘Ho, uncle, you never did ; but if it is like all the 
20 


306 


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practical jokes I ever knew you to play, it resulted in 
some good, I am sure.” 

‘‘Ask the doctor,” he replied, laughing heartily; 
“ ask the doctor.” 

“ Excuse me, sir,” answered that gentleman ; “ it 
would please me to hear your version of the matter. 
I am confident you are better qualified to do it justice 
than I.” 

Just as he was giving his preliminary ahem, Fan- 
nie exclaimed, breathlessly, 

“ 0 ! mamma, ^Nellie has fainted.” 

Mrs. Ormsbee hastened to the adjoining parlor, 
where she found her daughter in a deathly swoon, 
fixed and rigid as though the icy hand were already 
laid upon her vitals. Restoratives were immediately 
applied, and although animation continued for a long 
time suspended, yet the bodily functions began 
slowly to resume their several offices, and conscious- 
ness returned. 

Having carried her to her room, Mr. Ormsbee 
returned to his guests, while his wife and Aunt 
Betsey remained in charge of the sick girl. 

“ Where have I been ? ” she asked, in a bewildered 
tone, gazing around her, like one just awaking from 
a sound slumber. Then recognizing those around 
her, she said, in faint tones : “ O, mamma, I must 
have dreamed I was in heaven. Weren’t papa and 
Dr. Parker talking about it?” she asked, with an 
effort at recollection. 


Light Ahead. 


307 

‘‘Yos,” was the reply; “they were talking over 
the doctor’s sermon. 

“ That must have been what I heard just as I went 
off. It seemed to me I was going there.” 

“ Well, dear,” was her mother’s soothing answer, 
“you have been overtaxed of late, and not quite 
well. You will be all right in the morning.. Aren’t 
you glad Aunt Betsey is here, Nellie ? ” 

“ Yes,” she replied, holding out her hand. “ Dear 
Aunt Betsey, I am always glad to see her. She is 
like a ray of sunshine.” 

Seeing their patient sink into a gentle slumber, 
the two ladies descended to the parlor, where they 
were assailed by a host of questions. 

“ She’ll be better in the morning,” said Aunt 
Betsey, “ but it always touches me when there is any 
thing the matter with Nellie. I am always inclined 
to be fearful. She is so delicate and so lovely, that 
it seems to me she is almost too good to live.” 

“ Now, Aunt Betsey,” said Mr Ormsbee, “ doesn’t 
that savor a little of old-time superstition? God 
doesn’t take away all the good people, else here 
would be a trio of as disconsolate widowers as ever 
drew breath.” 

“Disconsolate!” repeated Mrs. Ormsbee. “How 
long would it be, think you, before you would be 
breathing vows of eternal constancy to sweet six- 
teen ? ” 

“Bah! Please give us credit for better sense, if 


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you must scandalize us. IS^ow, aunty, I appeal to you. 
Are you going to sit here quietly and hear our sex 
traduced with the light of your experience blazing 
before your eyes ? ” 

‘‘ No,’’ she replied, smiling, and casting a look full 
of trusting confidence toward her husband. “It 
would illy become me to doubt the constancy of 
your sex. Men are sometimes true to their first 
love, Mary, dear.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed Mr. Horton. “ How about 
your own sex, Mary? Are they immaculate, think 
you ? ” 

“ Not immaculate, uncle ; but, as a rule, I think 
they are more constant. However, I grant you that 
there are some noble examples in your own, and 
many lamentable failures in ours. So that I imagine 
it is, as the Englishman would say, about ‘ ’alf an’ 
’alf.’ ” 

Entering the library the next morning before 
breakfast, Mr. Ormsbee found Dr. Parker and the 
three little girls assembled there. 

“Ah! good-morning,” he said. “You have the 
start of. me. My wife was a little uneasy about 
Nellie, and our rest was somewhat broken.” 

“ I hope she is much better this morning.” 

“ Much better, thanks. O, I think all she requires 
is a little rest and quiet. Not being very strong, she 
is easily overcome, but I believe a day will set her all 
right.” 


Light Ahead. 


309 


“ I sincerely hope so.” 

Drawing Alice toward him in a fatherly embrace, 
and imprinting a kiss upon her cheek, Mr. Ormsbee 
said, 

“And how is Miss Snow -drop this morning? 
Remember, you are my daughter now, and I shall 
christen you as I please. Does that name please 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” she answered ; “ I am glad, though, that 
you didn’t call me White Rose.” 

“ And why not White Rose, pray ? ” 

“ Because that is papa’s name for me, and I could 
not allow any one else to use it.” 

“Ah! ha! Well, it shall be Snow-drop, then. 
Row, Snow- drop, do you know that you are to be 
perfectly at home here ? In all respects like my own 
children ? I allow them free access to this room and 
all there is in it, with the simple proviso, that when 
a book is removed from the shelves it shall be 
returned in as good order as when taken. That is 
right, is it not, doctor ? ” 

“ Perfectly so,” was the ready reply. 

“Row then,” he proceeded, playfully, “having 
the approbation and concurrence of your spiritual 
adviser, 1 ‘ continner,’ as Widow Bedott would say. 
You are at perfect liberty to come here at all hours, 
to read, write, study, or think, just as the mood seizes 
you, provided you do not infringe upon the laws of 
health. I require my daughters to take care of the 


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physical structure,” he added, turning to Dr. Parker, 
believing that to be the only true way to insure 
mental vigor and elasticity.” 

“ I rejoice to hear you say so,” replied the doctor, 
“ as that is my only fear for my little friend.” 

The bell now summoned them to partake of the 
morning meal, but before releasing Alice from his 
embrace, Mr. Ormsbee said, 

“ Kow remember, I am your second father, and I 
hope to gain a daughter’s love. Is it a compact ? ” 
“O yes, sir,” she answered, with beaming eyes. 
“ I think I shall be very happy here.” 

“ It shall not be our fault if you are not, my dear 
child,” he replied, as they entered the breakfast -room. 

An hour after the meal had been dispatched Dr. 
Parker sought Alice in the library, where she sat 
curled up in the lap of a capacious arm-chair, deep in 
the pages of a Poman History, which she had taken 
from the shelves merely to look over, but so absorbed 
had she become that she was utterly unaware of his 
approach until he laid one hand upon her head, and, 
extending the other, said, 

“Well, daughter, I have come to say farewell. I 
shall miss my compagnon du 'coyage very much. 
What message to the Gothamites ? ” 

“ O, sir,” she answered, raising her beautiful eyes 
to his face, “ please tell them that I am very well, that 
every body is very kind to me, and that I am going to 
be brave and study ever so hard, so that I may realize 


Light Ahead. 


311 


all tlieir expectations. I don’t mean that any body 
shall be disappointed in me,” she added, trying to 
smile, and forcing back the tears which were glisten- 
ing in her eyes. “And O, Dr. Parker, if papa — ” 
then overcome by emotion she paused. 

“1 understand you, my dear child,” he replied, 
with a depth of feeling almost equal to her own ; 
“ and I promise you that if any change takes place it 
shall be my sacred duty to keep you informed of it, 
and, if need be, to come myself and take you home.” 

“ Thank you,” was her reply, given with restored 
firmness of tone. “ O ! how kind you are. I trust 
you entirely. Dr. Parker, and will try not to be anx- 
ious unless I hear directly from you. I know mamma 
would not let me know if papa were worse, except in 
case of immediate danger, for fear of worrying me.” 

“You may trust me; and now, good-bye, I have 
only time to catch the train. Give me a kiss, and 
remember that the God of the covenant, your father’s 
God, will be yours also. I know of no more com- 
prehensive blessing than that which the Lord himself 
pronounced upon his chosen people by the mouth of 
his servant Aaron : 

“ ‘ The Lord bless thee, and keep thee : the Lord 
make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto 
thee : the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, 
and give thee peace.’ ” 

Taking up a Bible which lay upon a table by his 
side, he said. 


312 


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You will find it here in Numbers vi, 24r-26. Let 
us read it together.” 

He drew her toward a lounge, and seating himself 
beside her, they scanned in unison the pages of God’s 
holy word. The man of letters, of rare intellectual 
ability, of high position in the Church militant, and 
the tender child of scarce one fourth his years, un- 
taught in the wisdom of the schools, of savants or 
sages, but instructed, he had not a doubt, by the 
Holy Spirit, the great Teacher, without whose train- 
ing the soul is ignorant indeed, though possessed of 
all the philosophy and learning of earth. He closed 
the book, and, with a silent kiss and a pressure of the 
tiny hand, he was gone. 

Nellie’s temporary illness placed a check upon 
Alice’s eager ambition. So anxious was she to com- 
mence her course of study, that each day appeared to 
contain double its number of allotted hours. The 
time was not lost, however, for she had informed 
Mr. Ormsbee of Dr. Parker’s advice in regard to 
reading matter, and requested him to select for her 
such books as he deemed most instructive and 
profitable. 

With rare good judgment he placed in her hands, 
with due regard to series, such works as were best 
adapted to her age and sex ; works replete with 
general information, never to be gleaned from text- 
books. She had promised him that she would touch 
nothing, however attractive in appearance, without 


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313 


liis advice or permission, and witli her usual punctil- 
ious adherence to her word, she strictly kept her 
promise. 

Maud and Fannie met with repeated refusals in 
their importunities for her company in the play- 
room, yet, when she did join them, no one entered 
with more zest into the pastime of the hour. Mr. 
Ormsbee’s well-kept garden was a source of unfailing 
pleasure to her, and from its fragrant messengers she 
drew many a lesson of sweetness and gentleness, mak- 
ing companions of them, talking to them, as she con- 
fessed to having done at Eodman Farm, and trying 
to emulate their real or fancied excellences. 

“ Come, Alice !” said Fannie, one afternoon, “ Maud 
and I are going out for a walk, and we want you to 
go, too.” 

“O, Fannie, please excuse me,” she answered, 
scarcely looking up from the page she was reading. 
“ I would much rather finish this chapter. I want to 
tell Mr. Ormsbee about it when he comes home.” 

“ Go, dear,” said Mrs. Ormsbee, entering the room 
at that moment ; “ you have not been out of the 
house to-day. A walk to the Common will freshen 
you up. Too much application is harmful, you 
know, little girl ; and as I am joint custodian of this 
frail little casket, I must see that it is kept in proper 
condition to enshrine its precious jewel. Go, get 
your hat ; Maud and Fannie are all ready. See ! here 
they come, and you know they are none too patient. 


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Nellie is improving so rapidly that I think next week 
will see you all regularly employed at your school 
work.” 

A brisk walk in the fresh air sent them all home 
laughing and chattering like magpies. Alice had the 
satisfaction of finishing her chapter before Mr. Orms- 
bee’s return, and was rewarded with a full and in- 
teresting explanation of it. 

The longest and most tedious probation must at 
last come to an end ; and Alice, at the expiration of 
hers, joyfully accepted her position as a student in 
Professor Nugent’s Institute for Young Ladies. Her 
examination had proved entirely satisfactory, and 
she entered upon a much higher plane than she 
ever dared to hope. The weeks flew on apace, each 
one freighted with its usual cargo of school-girl 
experiences. October’s gorgeous beauty paled and 
closed its dying eye upon the lap of drear November, 
whose wailing winds and sobbing breath stripped 
the foliage from the trees, and brought blankness 
and desolation to the bare, brown earth. 

And now the festal month begins to shed its halo 
of delighted anticipation over young and old, the ma- 
ture and the undeveloped, the fair and those to whom 
nature has been more meager of her personal gifts. 
All are preparing for the grand festival of the year, 
the celebration of the natal day of the Lord of life 
and light, who became incarnate for the redemption 
of a lost world. 


Light Ahead. 


315 


The girls at school were allowed to occupy their 
noon hour in the manufacture of various dainty little 
articles which were to be kept secret from the home 
circle until the eventful day. Mysterious little 
packages were being surreptitiously conveyed into 
the house and secreted, and each face wore a look of 
important secrecy, as if to say, Don’t talk to me, I 
am too busy.” 

The home correspondence was unfailing in its 
punctuality, and favorable reports kept the mind of 
the little student free from anxiety. One morning, 
when the postman made his rounds, the usual missive 
came, but in Mabel’s delicate chirography. 

“We are all as well as usual, darling,” she wrote, 
“ and are frequently wondering what Alice is doing. 
We lead a very quiet life, you know ; and so there is 
not much news to be communicated. But you are 
not a newsmonger, and, I know, care only to hear 
about those whom you love. There is one item, 
however, that I must tell you. There have been 
several heavy failures here, and among those who 
have gone down with an immense crash is the house 
of Wentworth & Co. Rumor says that they have 
lost every thing, being very heavily involved, and 
cannot pay ten cents on the dollar. Papa is much the 
same, cheerful and patient as ever. He is always 
eager to receive your letters, and reads them with 
much satisfaction. Of course, we all feel that way, 
but to him it is an especial comfort and pleasure. 


316 


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There is no necessity of my rehearsing mamma’s 
praises ; they are too familiar to you to need repeti- 
tion. I don’t think she is like old wine, growing 
better with age, for really I see no room for improve- 
ment. Dr. Monroe says I must tell you that he looks 
very much less like a blushing peony than when 
you last saw him. He declares he is emulating the 
snow-drop, and is becoming as sylph-like as — as — 
Well, I cannot wait any longer for his sluggish brain 
to produce its thought, and as he is decidedly at a 
loss for a metaphor, he supplies — as yourself. He 
hopes, in time, he says, by continuing his process of 
judicious starvation, to merit even your fastidious 
approbation and — admiration. What a case he is ! 
I believe we should all stagnate if it were not for 
him. Dear, good auntie sends you the inclosed, 
which she hopes you will not consider as a Christ- 
mas present, but that you will accept and spend as 
best pleases you. She stipulates, however, that it 
shall not all be spent on every body else, but on your 
own dear self.” 

“ There is another person, who shall be nameless, 
sitting by, saying, ‘ Give my best love to Alice, and 
tell her that I claim from her a sister’s love in re- 
turn.’ Give it to him, Alice, darling, for I am go- 
ing to whisper a secret to this sheet which, in turn, 
will whisper it in your ears. He deserves it, and is 
very dear to the heart of your sister 


Mabel.” 


Light Ahead. 


317 


Alice opened a tiny envelope which was inclosed 
in her sister’s letter, and brought to view two shining 
half eagles. 

“Just see what auntie has sent me I” she exclaimed. 
“ Ten dollars ! to be spent just as I please.” 

“I wish papa would send me ten dollars,” said 
Maud. “ Do you know, Aunt Mary, I have spent 
my last cent ? ” 

“ What would you do with it, Maud ? ” asked her 
uncle. “Buy out the first confectioner on your way to 
school. I’ll warrant. I don’t believe you could possi- 
bly pass the door if there were a poor little solitary 
nickel in your pocket.” 

“ Indeed I could. Uncle Fred. I have done it 
many a time, even when the things in the windows 
were ever so tempting ; but to punish you for sus- 
pecting me of so low a motive, I sha’n’t tell you wiiat 
I have done with the money I saved by shutting my 
eyes as I passed all the good things.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed her uncle. “ What a self- 
sacrificing martyr you are becoming, Maud. Keep 
on, and you will win a record on the historic page.” 

“O, Maud!” exclaimed Alice, glancing over her 
letter the second time, “Mabel says that Lou Went- 
worth’s father has failed, and lost every thing.” 

“ Serves her right I” said downright Maud. “ Poor 
thing ! I’m sorry for her, too. It wasn’t kind to ex- 
press myself as I did, I know. Aunt Mary ; but she 
is such an upstart. I am afraid,” she added, as her 


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generous nature reasserted itself, “ she’ll find people 
who will look down upon her now.” 

Although Alice enjoyed the preparations for the 
Christmas festivities, which were in brisk progress, 
her heart turned, with a kind of sad longing, toward 
home. She had expected to spend the last week of the 
year with those whom she loved best on earth; but the 
Boston party had been so importunate in their plead- 
ings for her to remain with them, and share their 
tree and its fruits, that a reluctant consent had been 
given. There would be a vacation in the spring, and 
to that she was forced to transfer her anticipations. 

Hodman Farm had not withheld its contributions 
to the general fund, and a box arrived in due time, 
which they all declared was still redolent of the pine 
woods. 

Although the hearts of the home circle were fresh- 
ly bleeding at this season, which awakens so many 
memories, yet they agreed with Mr. and Mrs. Orms- 
bee that this day of Christian festivity should be, to 
the younger members of the household, a time of 
cheer and innocent rejoicing, unmarred by their own 
unavailing sorrow for one who would have entered 
with so keen a zest into its sports. 

Mr. Horton’s spirited steeds were often seen stand- 
ing before the Ormsbee Mansion, and certain ominous- 
looking packages were handed in to the obsequious 
waiter, who had received previous instructions where 
all such parcels were to be deposited. 


Light Ahead. 


319 


The day before Christmas Auiit Betsey made her 
appearance, soon after breakfast, and was locked with 
Mrs. Ormsbee in the library nearly all day, neither 
lady being visible except at luncheon, when Fan’s 
eager tongue made numerous tripping excursions to 
the matter in hand, but she could elicit no informa- 
tion, all her questions receiving monosyllabic replies, 
or none at all. The Sphynx herself could scarcely 
have been more non-committal than were her provok- 
ing auditors. 

Alice had taken Mrs. Ormsbee into her counsels, 
and under her judicious advice her expenditures were 
made with taste and skill, seasoned with a due regard 
for economy. In only one point did she prove refrac- 
tory, insisting that every one should have a share, 
until her funds were exhausted. 

The day had been spent in playing games, and in 
such diversions as were at hand to while away the 
tedium which expectancy always engenders ; yet the 
hours dragged somewhat heavily, as each one won- 
dered what particular genus of fruit the tree would 
bear for her. 

At last, as if in pity for their restless impatience, 
darkness settled upon the outside world. The gas 
was lighted in hall and parlors, but still they were 
kept in suspense. Presently Santa Claus appeared 
in the door-way, and was received with a merry 
shout. 

“Ha, ha I little people!” he called loudly, his 


320 Light Ahead. 

jollv, fat sides shaking with merriment, “who’s for 
a scramble ? 

‘ Come one, come all, 

From parlor and hall, 

To attend my coronation ; 

For I’m to be king ! — 

’Tis the Jolliest thing. 

My throne and its decoration.’ ” 

All made a rush, and followed the queer little 
figure to the library, which was enveloped in Egyp- 
tian darkness. As soon as the presence of royalty was 
felt, a fiood of light of divers colors was poured upon 
the scene, and quick as lightning the fantastic sover- 
eign jumped upon a dais, or throne, where he stood 
motionless, his eyes emitting flashes of fun. 

In addition to the usual grotesque dress in which 
the annual visitant is arrayed, he wore upon his head 
a huge crown of gilt, cut in high points, beneath 
which his long white hair and beard flowed in true 
Santa Claus style. 

“Ha, ha!” laughed he again, rubbing his hands 
gleefully ; “ what have we here ? Gifts for my sub- 
jects, to be distributed in true royal style ! ” Taking 
up the card from a huge object by his side, he read, 
“ Miss Hellie Ormsbee.” 

The outside covering was quickly removed, dis- 
closing a magnificent piano, of exquisite tone and 
workmanship. 

“ How,” he continued, “ the fair recipient will, no 
doubt, discourse sweet music from the tips of her 


Light Ahead. 


321 


snowy fingers, until the welkin rings. !N^ow, what 
produceth this prolific tree? By our most royal word, 
we declare it to be most heavily fruited ! ” 

Taking up a second card, he announced, “Miss 
Alice Hamilton, from auntie.” 

The package, being opened, revealed a dainty little 
gold watch ; another parcel contained a dress-pattern, 
of blue silk, from Mrs. Morrison ; from Mr. and Mrs. 
Ormsbee, a complete set of Dickens’s works; and, 
from Uncle E-ufus, a fine copy of Shakespeare. 

“Articles which will be useful in the future,” said 
the royal distributor, with a merry twinkle in his eye, 
“when the busy brain is weaving thoughts for the 
perusal of less-favored mortals.” 

Aunt Betsey’s gift comprised various elegant little 
dainties for the toilet, which a refined taste knows 
so well how to select. Humberless small articles of 
tasteful design and delicate construction were added, 
while last, but by far the most highly prized of all, 
was a large and beautifully bound Bible, whose fly-leaf 
bore the inscription, in her father’s handwriting, “ To 
our darling daughter, Alice. 

“Christmas, 18 — 

“ May this blest volume ever lie 
Close to thine heart and near thine eye, 

Till life’s last hour thy thoughts engage. 

And be thy chosen heritage.” 

Hot one was forgotten. The servants were all re- 
membered with those things which were most suitable 
21 


322 


Light Ahead. 


for them; and all had a happy consciousness that 
they were kindly thought of and cared for. 

“ Allow me, your majesty,” said Mr. Ormsbee, ad- 
vancing and falling upon one knee, “ to present your 
royal son and heir,” extending, as he spoke, a tiny 
cradle, made of sugar, studded with nuts, in lieu of 
diamonds, in which reposed a diminutive china doll, 
dressed in princely garments, and bearing upon its 
breast this august title : 

“ Peince Koyal of the House of Santa Claus'.” 

“ By our royal honor ! but this crowns the whole 
evening’s work,” he said, taking it in his hand and 
eyeing it askant. “Whose marvelous handiwork is 
this? Let her be announced, and we pledge her a 
kiss from our royal lips.” 

There was a general shout of “Mamma?” “Aunt 
Mary ? ” and being escorted by her husband, she 
received the kingly token with becoming grace and 
dignity. 

When Uncle Bufus divested himself of his rather 
ponderous attire he was in a state of hilarious excite- 
ment, which found vent in explosive bursts of laugh- 
ter, while the perspiration exuded from every pore. 
Throwing himself back upon a lounge, the gilded 
gewgaw with which his liead was still adorned pre- 
vented its repose upon the downy cushion. Tossing 
it off, he started up, and exclaimed, in tragic tones, 

“Lie there, thou tinseled toy! Thy owner has 


Light Ahead. 


323 


already learned the truth of the poet’s assertion, 
‘ Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ ” 

“Bequeath it to your heir,” said Mr. Ormsbee, 
laughing. 

“ Never shall that infant brow be burdened with 
this kingly crown,” was the reply, given in the same 
tragic manner, and lifting the unoffending circlet upon 
the toe of his boot, he played foot-ball with it until 
its glory had departed. 




fe CHAPTER XVIII. 

HAT a jolly man Uncle Hufus is!” ex- 



)) claimed Hellie the next morning at break* 
fast. “ I never heard any one laugh as heartily as 
he does.” 

“Yes,” said her father, “and it has the genuine 
ring, too. Ho counterfeit there.” 

“He’s particularly jolly just now,” said Mrs. 
Ormsbee ; “ he’s so proud of his wife, and so happy 
in her possession.” 

“ Proud of her ! ” echoed Fan. “ I don’t see 
much to be proud of — at least, as looks go.” 

“ Looks, Fan 1 ” exclaimed honest Maud. “ That’s 
nothing. I think she’s just as good as she can be. 
The other day, when I had that terrible headache, 
she nursed me so nicely that I couldn’t help loving 
her, she was so kind and gentle.” 

“ That is right, Maud,” said her uncle, “ always 
stand up for the right. Aunt Betsey is as good as 
gold.” 

“ There’s one thing,” said Fannie, “ that I can’t 
understand.” 

“ Only one thing, Fan ? ” asked her father, laughing. 
“Then you are wise, indeed. There are a great 
many things beyond my comprehension.” 


Light Ahead. 


325 


“Well, papa, I mean one thing about Aunt Betsey 
and Uncle Bufus. I can’t understand,” she contin- 
ued, plunging right into the mire in which her curi- 
osity had so often floundered, “ why they didn’t get 
married before. What did they wait all these years 
for?” 

“ Thereby hangs a tale,” replied her father, 
smiling. 

“Fannie,” said her mother, “perhaps if you were 
acquainted with Aunt Betsey’s history it might soften, 
in her case, your impatience with her lack of personal 
beauty.” 

“ Personal beauty ! O, mamma, she is positively 
ugly! If I didn’t love her so much, I believe I 
should think her hideous.” 

“ Well, daughter, if at her age this body of yours, 
which is now young and seemly, only contains a soul 
as pure and lovely as hers, it will be of but small con- 
sequence if it be plain or shrunken, or even de- 
formed. Perhaps the jewel is all the more brilliant 
for the plainness of its setting.” 

“ Papa, you said, ‘ Thereby hangs a tale,’ ” said 
IT ellie. “ Please unfold it to us, will you ? ” 

“ With all my heart,” he replied. “ Let us adjourn 
to the library, where we shall not be in the way of 
the servants, and I will test my pgwers as historian.” 

Having disposed themselves in attitudes favorable 
for both speaker and hearers, Mr. Ormsbee com- 
menced his narrative. 


326 


Light Ahead. 


“ Aunt Betsey was, as you are already aware, my 
mother’s youngest sister. Being the last of a large 
family makes her but slightly my senior. When 
she was but a year old her mother died, and my 
grandfather shortly married a second time, and was 
most unfortunate in his choice. Another family of 
children gathered around him, and as the years rolled 
on one after another of the first fiock married and 
left the homestead, glad to escape to homes of their 
own. The three daughters of the second wife also 
married very early, and the only son established him- 
self in business in Chicago, so that Aunt Betsey was 
left alone with an irritable, uncompromising step- 
mother, not by any means a desirable position, as I 
think even Fan will allow. 

“ I do not intend to speak against step-mothers in 
general,” continued Mr. Ormsbee, with a mischievous 
glance at his wife, “ some of them are the noblest of 
womankind, but this was a particularly uninteresting 
specimen. When Aunt Betsey was about twenty- 
two she went to Ohio, to visit a school friend, whose 
brother happened to be at home, spending his col- 
lege vacation. Happened ? Well, I don’t believe 
that, but we’ll allow it to pass for the present, and 
proceed. The old scene was enacted over again — 
Cupid playing mad pranks with the hearts of young 
man and maiden, and this time he aimed with such 
unerring precision, that his darts could never be 
extracted. The poison with which they were tipped. 


Light Ahead. 327 

rankling in their blood, proved beyond the power of 
eradication. 

“ Her visit ended, she returned home with ‘ Love’s 
young dream’ floating in her brain. She did not 
look twenty -flve years ago as she does now. Fan. 
She was plump and fair then, and as joyous as any 
bird. People say time has not dealt gently with her. 
Poor old Father Time ! How many sins he is made 
to bear that ought, rightfully, to be laid upon other 
shoulders. 

Well, she went home with the dulcet strains of a 
sweet song lingering in her ear, but ere long they be- 
came plaintive, almost dirge-like in their tones, and 
the rosy cloud that had been golden-tipped became 
dark as night. 

“ The correspondence which had been initiated on 
her return continued unbroken. The young man had 
written to her father, and obtained from him a con- 
ditional consent to their marriage, which amounted 
to this — that if, after having completed his collegiate 
course and established himself in his profession, they 
both maintained their present feelings, no opposition 
would be offered them. But about two months after 
Betsey’s return her mother was attacked by a pro- 
tracted and painful illness, which made her an ex- 
acting, fretful invalid for the remainder of her life. 
The poor girl attended her with all a daughter’s patient 
affection, but was rewarded only with complaints and 
reproaches. She endured them all with Arm cheer- 


328 


Light Ahead. 


fulness, believing that, in God’s good time, her pro- 
bation would be ended. For was not her life enno- 
bled and glorified by love’s rosy crown? She was 
constantly cheered and encouraged by hopeful letters, 
breathing an unchanging affection, and weaving bright 
garlands of delighted anticipation for the not far-dis- 
tant future. She went about her daily tasks, receiv- 
ing fresh accessions of strength for every day’s neces- 
sity, the Saviour’s words being verified to her, ‘ My 
grace is sufficient for thee.’ 

“ So the years passed away, sometimes golden- 
winged, and sometimes leaden-footed, until her lover 
had been admitted to the bar, and was rapidly rising 
in his profession, when he claimed his promised bride. 
ISTow came the strife between love and duty. The 
selfish, exacting invalid refused to give her up, de- 
claring she should die if left in other hands, and ac- 
cusing her of being hard-hearted and unfeeling to 
think of leaving her in her last illness. To a sensi- 
tive conscience such a suggestion would prove a pro- 
lific source of bitter self-reproach, and Betsey began to 
upbraid herself in strong terms for ever having in- 
dulged such an anticipation.” 

“ But where were her own daughters ? ” asked 
Nellie. 

“ O they were married, you know, and, immersed 
in the cares of housekeeping and maternity, paid 
but little attention to poor Betsey’s unhappy thral- 
dom. The importunate lover offered to waive all 


Light Ahead. 


329 


Ills brilliant prospects in his own State and come to 
Boston, where the invalid could still enjoy her society 
and occasional ministrations. My grandfather, good, 
kind old man, tried to reason with her, offering to 
procure for her the best professional nursing. But 
she was deaf to all entreaties, wringing her thin 
hands, and with tears protesting that she wished her- 
self dead and out of the way, and in the next breath 
vowing vengeance upon the innocent cause of all the 
trouble. 

“ Poor Betsey ! between reproaches and fault-finding 
on the one hand, and pleadings on the other, she was 
worn to a shadow of her former self. The conflict 
was long and exhaustive, but her strong sense of duty 
finally triumphed, and the disappointed lover returned 
alone to his Western home, not soured, or in the least 
degree acrimonious, but with his great genial heart 
glowing with a tender appreciation of ^e noble, self- 
sacrificing spirit of the woman for whom his love fell 
little short of idolatry. It never occurred to him 
that her surrender to the unreasonable demands made 
upon her was the result of a shallow nature — of a 
love less firm and abiding in its character than his 
for her. No, no ; he was cast in too noble a mold to 
harbor suspicion, and he cherished her memory as a 
greater incentive to a higher and purer life. She 
had written to him, ‘ You had better forget me. I 
may be a bond-slave here for the rest of my nat- 
ural life. Marry and make yourself a happy home. 


330 Light Ahead. 

There is no reason why both of ns should be 
miserable.’ 

“ His answer had been characteristic : ‘ Hever, while 
life remains, will I marry any woman but you. Ho, 
Betsey, you become my wife, or I remain a bachelor 
to the end of my days.’ 

“Her father died about two years ago, and she 
was then, indeed, lonely, for she missed the kind 
sympathy and loving words of the gentle old man. 
Her only pleasure, now a half-mournful one, was her 
Western letters, which never failed. Twice a week 
the postman’s well-known ring brought a short respite 
from her wearisome task. Even these had to be en- 
joyed in secret, for if the impatient mother caught a 
sight of one of these it became the signal for a tor- 
rent of invectives against the innocent writer. Betsey 
often thought that she could detect the goadings of 
conscience in the midst of this deep-rooted dislike, 
but said nothing, believing that the leaven would 
work its way through the entire lump. Still she 
maintained her post by the sick-bed until last spring, 
when, with but slight warning, the invalid expired in 
the arms of her faithful nurse. How the spring was 
broken, and Betsey sank into a state of utter uncon- 
sciousness, from which it was feared she would never 
rally. And when consciousness did return, she proved 
to be prostrated by a nervous disease so severe that 
only her physician and nurse were allowed to enter 
her room. That, by the way, Fan, is the cause of 


Light Ahead. 


331 


tlie twitching, which sometimes annoys you ; but I 
am glad to see that it is passing away. As soon as 
she became able to sit up and bear any society, a 
friend in New York, the wife of an eminent physician, 
who makes such diseases a specialty, invited her to 
make her a visit, hoping to induce her to submit to a 
trial of her husband’s skill. Uncle Kuf us had been in 
Boston during all her illness, determined at the first 
opportunity to assume the rights of guardianship. 
He now accompanied her to New York, and so over- 
joyed was he at her improvement in a month, that in 
one of his whims, while they were out walking to- 
gether, he persuaded her to go to Dr. Parker’s house 
and be married. She offered some slight resistance, 
pleading the opinion of their friends as an excuse, but 
at last, feeling that his rare constancy and devotion 
deserved its reward, she consented. The rest you 
know. Now do you wonder that Uncle Bufus is a 
happy man ? ” 

There was thoughtful silence for a moment, wLich 
Nellie broke by exclaiming, 

“ Dear Aunt Betsey, it seems to me that she was 
as much a martyr as some who have suffered at the 
stake for conscience’ sake, for she suffered slow torture 
for the same reason.” 

“You are right, Nellie,” said her mother, softly; 
but a little longer, and I feel sure that she would 
have died in the harness. Who will say that she will 
not wear a martyr’s crown ? ” 


332 


Light Ahead. 


“ I have always loved her,” replied IN^ellie ; “ but 
this knowledge makes me reverence her as something 
almost sacred.” 

“ She is worthy of your reverence, my daughter,” 
said her father, “ and of your truest affection, for she 
has been purified as by fire.” 

The next day the air was full of snow. Heavy, 
battling clouds hung on the face of the sky, or were 
driven before the wind with threatening velocity. 
By noon they settled down into an impenetrable veil, 
and an hour later a fieecy mantle covered the ground. 
Steadily the feathery crystals descended, and soon 
every slender twig bent beneath its snow}’’ weight. 
All night it snowed, and in the morning every thing 
was bright and glistening in the clear sunlight. The 
merry jingle of sleigh-bells was welcome music, and 
the shouts of the boys at their snow-balling rung 
out on the crisp, frosty air, with a rousing peal. 

“ O, papa ! ” exclaimed Hellie, as she greeted her 
father with her usual morning kiss, “ can’t we have 
a sleigh-ride to-day ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know,” he answered, the coachman re- 
ported one of the horses lame last night. I can’t tell 
in what condition I may find him. However, I 
should be sorry to deprive you all of a pleasure which 
can only occasionally be enjoyed. I will come home 
to luncheon, and if he is not fit to be driven, I will 
hire a team, and we’ll all pile in and have a jolly 
ride.” 


liiGHT Ahead. 


333 


“ O, wont that be fun ? ” cried Maud, clapping her 
hands ; “ I love a sleigh-ride.” 

“You love any thing that promises pleasure, I 
rather think,” said her uncle, pinching her rosy 
cheek; “you are a genuine pleasure hunter. I give 
you credit for one thing, though, you are easily 
pleased, so you usually don’t have to hunt very 
far.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Ormsbee, “ she is like the bee ; 
she gathers honey from every flower. I sincerely 
hope there is much pleasure in store for you, dear, 
in both this world and the next.” 

“ Aunt Mary, you are just like mamma,” answered 
Maud ; “ you always think of every thing in refer- 
ence to the next world. I don’t believe either of 
you live in this world at all, and yet you are both so 
happy.” 

“ Why should we be otherwise, when we enjoy all 
the best pleasure to be had here, and a promise of 
something better, infinitely better, by and by ? ” 

About eleven o’clock, as the girls were seated in 
the pleasant library, Nellie with her drawing, Maud 
and Fannie playing some game, and Alice with a 
book upon her lap, they were interrupted by a merry 
shout. For some reason Alice could not read this 
morning. She had been weaving one of those bright 
webs of fancy in which she loved to indulge, being 
more than usually preoccupied, when the door 
opened, and Uncle Rufus revealed himself as the 


334 Light Ahead. 

author of the hallo ! ” whose echoes seemed even 
now ringing on the air. 

“ Hallo !” he replied, “ where’s your mother, Pet ?” 
walking up to Hellie, and laying one hand upon her 
head. “ I want to rob her of her ducklings.” 

“I don’t know. Uncle Pufus. She was here a 
moment ago, and I hardly knew she had vanished.” 

“Why, Uncle Pufus, you here?” exclaimed the 
truant, entering, “hasn’t this been a jolly snow- 
storm ? ” 

“Jolly! Yes, indeed. See here, Mary,” he said, 
turning around and facing her, “ I want these young- 
sters to go home with me for a few days. Betsey sent 
me,” he added, pretending, like a great overgrown 
school-boy, to be afraid of a refusal. “I wouldn’t 
have dared to come, only I know you wouldn’t 
deny her any thing. Come, girls, scamper away and 
get on your dry goods. How, Mary, you haven’t 
a word to say, because its Betsey’s doings, you know. 
We’re two old fogies, and she wants to hear fresh, 
young voices singing through the house, and nimble 
feet, and to be mixed up generally. I don’t care any 
thing about it.” 

“ O, no, not you ! ” she replied. “ But what wiU 
Fred say? He promised us all a sleigh-ride this 
afternoon.” 

“O, bless your heart, I stopped at Fred’s office, 
and made it all right with him, if Mary said so. 
He’d agree to jump down Niagara, if Mary only said 


Light Ahead. 


335 


so. Bless your dear heart, you and he can go off sky- 
larking together. Imagine yourselves twenty-five 
years younger, and enjoying the halcyon days of 
courtship. Don’t I know all about it ? ” 

“You ought to,” she answered, laughing. “You 
were long enough about it.” 

“Yes,” was the reply, in a strangely serious tone, 
“ and I wouldn't go back twenty-five years and have 
my Betsey suffer such torture again for the sake of 
having her rejuvenated and beautified, although she 
isn’t as young and fair as she once was. To me she’s 
as sweet as any rose, because her spirit is so lovely. 
Come on,” he said, gayly, as the girls came trooping 
down stairs, all equipped for their drive. “Bun- 
dle yourselves into the sleigh, and look out you don’t 
freeze to death. Mind, I sha’n’t stop my beauties, 
if the whole pack of you cry for mercy.” 

Uncle Kufus’s cream-colored beauties, as he called 
them — and they well deserved the name — were soon 
skimming over the smooth snow, with their dainty 
heads erect, and with true aristocratic bearing, their 
hoofs scarcely touching the ground in their prancing 
motion. At last they dashed up to the door. 

“ Here we are I ” exclaimed their owner, springing 
to the ground. “Jump out, you baggages;” and, 
tossing the reins to the coachman, he dashed up the 
steps just in time to meet Aunt Betsey,, her face 
wreathed in smiles, coming to the door to meet 
them. 


336 


Light Ahead. 


‘^Here,” he cried, “I’ve brought you all these 
nuisances. Don’t see what you want of ’em. ’Spose 
they’ll turn the house out the windows and ruin 
every thing with their mad pranks. Bah ! any thing 
but a lot of school-girls ; ” and turning off, whistling 
a merry tune, he was soon out of sight. 

“ Don’t mind him, dear,” said Aunt Betsey, turning 
to Alice, who, as the stranger of the party, she feared 
might be mystified or wounded by his random talk. 
“ He’s the kindest-hearted man in the world,” she 
continued, as the others gathered around her, con- 
stituting her audience. “He found a strange cat 
out by the gate the other day, that seemed to be sick, 
so he brought it in and nursed and fussed over it till 
the poor thing actually died in his arms. But come, 
'girls, get off your things. Luncheon is waiting;” 
and she tripped away on hospitable thoughts intent. 

“ Hallo ! ” exclaimed Uncle Rufus, appearing at 
this moment ; “ where’s Betsey ? ” 

“ Gone ! ” answered Fan’s saucy voice. “ Gone to 
hide herself in disgust at your inhospitable introduc- 
tion of visitors into your own house.” 

“ Get out of the way, you saucy minx, or I’ll — I’ll 
stop your mouth with kisses. I know what has be- 
come of the mistress of the mansion ; she’s gone to 
see that there’s provender enough to satisfy your 
capacious .appetite. She knows your failing in that 
respect, and is determined to satisfy you, if possible. 
I haven’t a doubt you’ll ruin us.” 


Light Ahead. 


337 


“ N'ow, Eufus,” cried Aunt Betsey, stepping in just 
in time to hear the last remark, ‘‘you’re too bad! 
Don’t mind him. Fan, he shall be chastised in true 
school-boy fashion.” 

“ Uncle Kufus,” asked Nellie, after luncheon, 
“ will you show us your cabinet of curiosities ? ” 

“Yes,” he replied, “if Fan will keep her meddle- 
some fingers off.” 

“ Now, you dear old humbug 1 ” exclaimed that 
young lady, springing up, and throwing her arms 
around his neck, “you know that’s just what you 
want me to do. You want me to say, ‘What’s 
this ! ’ ‘ O, what’s that ! ’ just so that you may have 
the pleasure of describing them, and displaying your 
knowledge. Isn’t that true. Aunt Betsey ? ” 

“ Pretty near true, dear,” she answered ; “ he likes 
to have you interested in his collection.” 

“I thought so,” replied Fan, as she caught his 
unresisting hand, and led him in triumph to the 
library, closely followed by the others. 

“I know what that is,” she cried, pointing to a 
piece of ivory which bore a close resemblance to a 
huge tooth ; “ it’s a whale’s tooth.” 

“ No, it isn’t,” he answered, quickly. “ It’s the 
jaw-bone of Balaam’s ass.” 

A merry shout followed this announcement, which 
he received with an assumption of dignified silence. 

“ This,” he said, gravely, taking a small piece of 
paper from the cabinet, “ is something you have never 
22 


338 


Light Ahead. 


seen. I value it so highly that I only exhibit it on 
state occasions like the present. It is a great and 
very valuable curiosity — a lock of hair cut from the 
head of Demosthenes after death, and sent to me by 
express.” 

They all gathered around him as he unwound a 
coil of long, light hair of a tawny hue, and passed it 
caressingly through his fingers. 

“ O, Uncle Kufus! ” exclaimed Maud, “how long 
it is, and what a queer color ! Who ever saw a man 
with such hair ! ” 

“Yes,” he said, gravely, “it is a queer color, but 
you must remember that Demosthenes lived in queer 
times, and passed through queer scenes, and they 
may have had some influence upon the length and 
color of his hair. I prize this very highly. Demos- 
thenes was an old friend of mine.” 

Nellie and Alice exchanged glances, but, seeing the 
joke, they remained silent, wishing to hear Uncle 
Eufns develop it in his own fashion. As for Maud 
and Fan, they were too wild with excitement and 
curiosity to think whether Demosthenes was an 
Athenian orator or an American statesman. 

“ Yes,” he continued, still without smiling ; “ De- 
mosthenes was the best friend I ever had, except 
Betsey. I’ve ridden on his back many hundred 
miles, and always found him true and faithful, until 
at last he died, poor fellow ! ” 

“ O, Uncle Bufus !” cried Fan, “ it was your horse ! ” 


Light Ahead. 


339 


“ Of course it was ; what did you suppose it was ? ” 

“Why, I thought it was a man,” she answered, 
with a pretended pout. “ What a cheat you are ! ” 

“ What did you call him Demosthenes for ? ” asked 
ITellie. 

“ Because he was so eloquent.” 

“Eloquent!” echoed Fan; “who ever heard of a 
horse being eloquent 1 ” 

Let me tell you. Miss Fan, that there is more 
eloquence in the glance of an intelligent eye than is 
often conveyed in a torrent of words. If you had 
looked into Demosthenes’s and read the mute affec- 
tion in their soft depths, you would have said he was 
a first-class orator and worthy of his name.” 

“What’s that?” asked Fan, pointing to an uninvit- 
ing-looking substance of ungainly form and a brown- 
ish color. 

“ A fossil,” he answered ; “ what you’ll be one of 
these days, if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

“No, she wont. Uncle Eufus,” replied Nellie. 
“ She can’t keep still long enough.” 

“ That’s true, Nell ; perpetual motion and petrifac- 
tion are not cause and effect, are they ? ” 

Heigh-ho ! School life again. Well, “ all pleasures 
must have an end,” is an aphorism, the truth of which 
has been well proven in all climes and through all 
ages. But, ah ! here comes the balmy, dewy-eyed 
Spring. Let us see what she brings in her train. 


340 


Light Ahead. 


Tulips, crocuses, and daffodils are lifting their bright 
heads in the court-yards and gardens of the city, while 
far away, in the still bare and naked woods, the moss 
is green and fresh under it snowy coverlet, and the 
trailing arbutus peeps timidly out, sending forth each 
fragrant, delicate little tendril, as though asking per- 
mission to come into the light and cheer of day. 
Yes, Spring is here, making one involuntary burst 
out into those charming joyous words of England’s 
sweet poetess : 

“I come, I come, ye have called me long; 

I come o’er the mountains with light and song ; 

Ye may trace my steps o’er the wakening earth, 

By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth, 

By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass. 

By the green leaves opening as I pass.” 

Easter flowers are being coaxed or forced into 
bloom; and the dainty azalia, the stately lily, tea- 
roses, with their creamy, delicately-folded leaves, and 
their not less fragrant and lovely, but more diminu- 
tive sisterhood are putting on their beautiful array, 
breathing out their aroma as a sweet and acceptable 
accompaniment to the triumphant anthem, “Christ, 
the Lord, is risen to-day.” 

Mabel’s marriage had become a flxed fact, and as 
her ambitious little sister was unwilling to lose any 
time from her studies, the wedding was arranged to 
take place during Easter week, when Alice would be 
enjoying her spring vacation, toward which she now 
began to look with almost uncontrollable longing. 


Light Ahead. 


341 


Homesickness had laid its heavy weight upon her 
many, many times, but she had steadily fought it, 
and, as all brave and patient spirits will, had come 
off victor. How, however, as the time approached, 
she found self-control a more difficult matter, and 
her heart burdened with delighted anticipation. 
But with it an important query presented itself. 
How should she be transported thither ? Mr. Orms- 
bee was gathering testimony in an important law 
case and could not leave the city. Ho one seemed 
available as escort. What should she do ? 

“ I can go alone,” she said one morning in a debate 
as to ways and means of journeying. “ If Mr. Orms- 
bee will go with me to the depot and put me in the 
care of the conductor, Mabel and Mr. Chandler will 
meet me in Hew York.” 

“Hot a bad idea. Snow-drop,” said Mr. Ormsbee. 
“ I’m sorry I can’t beau you, but in lieu of me you 
can accept the next best man, and that, under the 
circumstances, seems to be the conductor.” 

“ But is it practicable ? Is it safe ? ” asked his wife. 

“ Eminently practicable,” he replied, “ and I can 
see no good reason for considering it unsafe.” 

Alice’s “ I must go ” was conclusive, and as her 
suggestion seemed the most feasible, Mr. Ormsbee 
placed her under the charge of the gentlemanly con- 
ductor, who promised his most careful attention until 
his charge should be delivered into the care of her 
friends. 


342 


Light Ahead. 


Alice had scarcely become comfortably seated and 
the train under way before she was made aware that 
she was an object of interest or curiosity to some 
persons occupying a seat a little in her rear on the 
other side of the car. Presently she heard her name 
mentioned, and slightly turning her head, recognized 
Mrs. Wentworth and Lou. 

“ There, Lou ! ” said the former, “ isn’t that Alice 
Hamilton ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Lou, impatiently ; “ I wish she 
was somewhere else. She’s always crossing my path. 
I wouldn’t have had her see me at Aunt Polly’s for 
any thing, and now, of course, she’s heard of all our 
troubles, and she’ll be glad, too, I know.” 

Lou was not always particular about her tenses, 
and now her excitement carried her so far that she 
scarcely knew or cared whether her language ex- 
pressed her exact meaning or not. 

“Let's go over and talk to her, so that if she’s 
heard any thing we’ll get her off the track, and she 
wont believe it.” 

Without waiting for either concurrence or remon- 
strance from her amiable daughter, Mrs. Wentworth 
took possession of the seat in front of Alice, which 
happened to be vacant, and nodding familiarly, with 
a patronizing smile she asked, 

“ Isn’t your name Alice Hamilton ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Alice, wondering what 
was coming next. 


Light Ahead. 


3i3 


‘‘ Been to school in Boston, haven’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” was the second laconic reply. 
“You’ve been staying with Maud Morrison’s aunt, 
haven’t you ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“ I spose they live in great snuff, don’t they ? ” 

“ Mr. Ormsbee’s place is very handsome, and they 
live beautifully,” answered Alice, somewhat aroused 
by her inquisitor’s insinuating manner. 

“Well, I’ve heard it said that his wife is an awful 
extravagant piece, and a Tartar to boot ; and I know 
the Morrisons are as proud as Lucifer.” 

“Whoever gave you that information,” replied 
Alice, with quiet dignity, was entirely unacquainted 
with Mrs. Ormsbee’s character. She is a lovely, 
Christian lady, and I have never seen the slightest 
evidence of pride in the Morrisons. They are kind 
and good to every body.” 

“ How do you like Boston ? ” 

“ Yery much.” 

“ What school are you attending there ? ” 

“ Professor Hugent’s.” 

“ O yes ; that’s where I intend to send Lou, if we 
move to Boston, as we expect to do. I have been 
there now, looking at an elegant house that my hus- 
band thinks of buying. We are getting tired of 
living in Hew York, there is so much shoddy there, 
and we think the society in Boston is superior. We 
want Lou to have every advantage, and mean she 


344 


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shall be an accomplished lady. Of course, she will 
go in the best society, as we have never mingled in 
any other. The arrangements for the house are 
nearly all made. My husband is only waiting for me 
to say the word, and, of course, I shall say it as soon 
as I get home, so I suppose we shall move very soon. 
You are going back to school, aint you ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Good-bye, then. You may expect to see Lou 
there after the summer vacation.” 

Alice bowed her head, without a reply, glad to be 
rid of her unwelcome visitor. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed the lady, reseating herself by 
her daughter’s side. “ I’ve given her a quietus. I’ll 
warrant you. I’ve made her believe that we’re go- 
ing to buy an elegant house in Boston, and that 
she’s going to be blessed wuth your society at school.” 

“Humph! I hope not. I don’t want to go to 
school where she is.” 

“ I don’t know about that. How that rich aunty’s 
got her in tow, it might be a good thing for you to 
cultivate her acquaintance, and if I can put those ab- 
surd notions of honesty out of your father’s head, and 
make him save enough to live handsomely, you might 
do it yet.” 

“You can’t do that,” answered Lou, sullenly. 
“ He’s bound to make us beggars. He’s as stubborn 
as the stubbornest mule that ever drew breath.” 

“ You and I, together, can make such a din 


Light Ahead. 345 

around his ears, that, for peace’ sake, he’ll be glad to 
do as we want him to.” 

“Don’t you believe it,” was the inelegant reply, 
“ He’ll do what he thinks is right if you and I both 
stand, like tigers, in his way.” 

Alice found the simple preparations for Mabel’s 
wedding all completed, and on Wednesday of Easter 
week the ceremony was performed, only the inner 
circle of friends being present. 

“ Miss Alice,” said Dr. Parker, after the twain had 
been made one, “ I flatter myself it will not be many 
years before I shall be called upon to do a similar 
service for you.” 

“ I think not, sir,” she answered, laughing ; “ I 
shall never find any body silly enough to want to 
marry me.” 

“Hot she,” chimed in Dr. Monroe. “Men are 
afraid of blue glasses and spiral curls, to say nothing 
of ink-stained fingers.” 

“ But, I apprehend no probability of ever seeing 
Miss Alice in that plight.” 

“She meditates it, though, I assure you. She 
always had her head above Mont Blanc, and from 
her sublime height looked down with infinite indif- 
ference upon those very individuals of whose whole- 
some fear I have just spoken.” 

“ Why not allow her flights a still higher range, 
and set her on Parnassus at once. It strikes me, 
doctor, that you are a little at fault in your antici- 


346 


Light Ahead. 


pations. If I am not mistaken the inhabitants of 
those exalted regions do not convey their thoughts 
in a fluid so gross and so mundane in its quahty as 
ink. They possess a subtle power by which their 
ideas are transfused into the brains of their fellows, 
without the slow medium by which we mortals com- 
municate with one another. Besides, I imagine 
they have no use for blue glasses, and spiral curls are, 
probably, not in the category of their ornaments.” 

“ There, doctor,” laughed Alice, ‘‘ you are caught 
in your own net.” 

“I^ot caught so fast as you think for. I will 
leave it to Doctor Parker if your ideas are not very 
lofty, when even I do not suit them. The idea of 
calling me a big blushing peony ! And then,” he con- 
tinued, turning toward the smiling clergyman, “ after 
the severe ordeal to which I have submitted myself, 
I am still not sufiiciently ethereal to please her ultra 
reflned taste.” 

“ And I leave it to Dr. Parker if my simile is not 
a correct one,” she answered, with an arch glance. 

“Particularly appropriate, I should say,” replied 
the latter. “ Ah, doctor, you are getting the worst 
of it. You had better beat a retreat.” 

“ Saucebox ! ” he exclaimed, shaking his finger 
at her playfully. “You are developing a taste for 
repartee, with all your other accomplishments. I 
shall take care that that germ doesn’t sprout. I claim 
the monopoly there.” 


Light Ahead. 


347 


There was a sudden rustle in the room at this 
moment, caused by the re-appearance of the bride to 
take her farewell previous to her departure. After 
having taken leave of the others she approached her 
father, who lay back in his easy-chair in an attitude of 
utter exhaustion, his head gently reclining on one 
side. His newly married daughter knelt by his side 
to receive his parting blessing. Drawing her gently 
toward him, he said, in feeble tones, as he placed his 
trembling hand upon her head, 

“ My darling daughter, your father’s God — ” 

He ceased. A solemn silence prevailed for a mo- 
ment, when Dr. Monroe stepped forward and, rever- 
ently removing the cold hand, led Mabel to the near- 
est seat. Two guests had met there that day. The 
one was greeted with happy smiles and merry jest — 
the other unbidden — unknov/n — unwelcomed. 


CHAPTER XX. 


M r. MORRISOX, having had Tony under his 
tuition for two years, had found him by no 
means so unpromising a pupil as first appearances in- 
dicated. Having succeeded, after a time, in brush- 
ing away the cobwebs, and sweeping out the dusty 
corners of his brain, he began to see some rays of 
light through the crannies and broken clapboards 
which walled in that wonderful structure. 

The boy had mastered the elements of reading 
with tolerable facility. He had acquired some knowl- 
edge of the science of arithmetic, and had learned the 
shape of the earth, its diurnal and annual revolutions, 
together with the location of various places on its 
surface. His judicious instructor had employed oral 
teaching to a very great extent, and in casual conver- 
sations had related to him incidents which occurred 
in the lives of some of the heroes of ancient Greece 
and Rome. He had explained to him the theory of 
American republicanism, and had rendered him, in 
some degree, familiar with the names of our most 
popular and efficient presidents. 

Tony had now reached the age of fourteen, and 
Mr. Ormsbee began to think it time to fulfill his 


Light Ahead. 


349 


promise. He accordingly transported him to Boston, 
and placed him in a classical school, where he made 
rapid progress, manifesting an aptitude and fondness 
for learning which once seemed entirely foreign to 
his nature. 

Mr. Ormsbee, besides reading Latin with Hellie and 
Alice in the evening at home, followed out the line 
of his brother-in-law’s idea in reference to Tony, 
managing to convey to him, in the form of ordinary 
conversation, many valuable bits of information. 

The constant attrition produced by association 
with boys of his own age, who had enjoyed superior 
advantages, gradually wore off the rough edges of an 
unprepossessing exterior, and with the additional self- 
respect which the acquisition of knowledge always 
gives, he took a pride in his personal appearance, 
which placed him almost beyond the power of recog- 
nition. 

“ Tony,” said Mr. Horton, on one occasion, “ you 
have now had six months’ experience in digging for 
Latin roots; which is the easier work, that, or hoeing 
potatoes ? ” 

“ Well, sir,” he answered, smiling, “I suppose, if I 
speak truth, I shall be compelled to say, hoeing pota- 
toes, because I believe I managed to perform very little 
labor in that direction. If you ask me which I like 
the better of the two, I should say the Latin roots, by 
all means, although I know it is necessary that some 
one should hoe potatoes ; and if it had not been for 


350 


Light Ahead. 


the kindness of friends I should probably be doing 
that very thing at this moment.” 

“ I hope you recognize the dealings of Providence 
in the matter, my dear boy,” said Mr. Ormsbee. 
“ You would never have obtained an education 
through the legitimate channel, not only on account 
of pecuniary inability, but because your father con- 
siders it of but little benefit, mainly, I presume, for 
the reason that he is not placed in a position where 
its advantages are brought within the sphere of his 
observation.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the boy, with a look and gesture 
of determined courage ; “ but I mean to try to con- 
vince him of his mistake. If I live, I hope to show 
him that education can accomplish that which igno- 
rance has no power to perform.” 

“ That’s it, my boy ! ” exclaimed Mr. Horton. 
“ That speech shows that you have in you ‘ the stuff 
of which men are made.’ Keep to that resolution, 
and you will make a man, some of these days, of 
whom your friends need not be ashamed.” 

“ Thank you, sir. I should be most ungrateful to 
those kind friends who first aroused my ambition if 
1 did not improve the advantages which they have 
placed within my reach,” he answered, gathering an 
armful of books with which he proceeded to his 
own room to master whatever difficulties might arise 
therefrom. 

A few days after this conversation, it being Sat- 


Light Ahead. 


351 


urday, Alice was seated at 'the library-table busily 
writing, when the door opened, and Aunt Betsey 
appeared. 

“ Good-morning,” she said, cheerily. “ All alone ? ” 
at the same time unceremoniously divesting herself 
of hat and mantle and laying them on a chair. 

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Alice. “Mrs. Ormsbee and 
Nellie have gone to see a poor family, and Fan and 
Maud are out for a walk.” 

“ Why didn’t you go with them, little bookworm ? 
Do you prefer remaining here with all these silent 
friends around you ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” she answered. “It is so quiet and 
pleasant here; and then I thought it would be a good 
time to write while they were all gone.” 

“ That means that you were having a good time, 
until the old auntie came and interrupted you,” was 
the smiling rejoinder. 

“ O, no ! ” she answered, earnestly, the truth of 
which was confirmed by the sparkling eye and the 
bright smile now wreathing the sweet lips. “ I am 
always glad to see you. Aunt Betsey. Besides, I have 
finished my paper, and you are not hindering me the 
least bit.” 

“ I am glad I am not. Now as we are all alone 
here, suppose you let me see what so closely occupied 
your attention that you could forego the pleasure of 
a walk this lovely morning, with such lively compan- 
ions as Maud and Fan ? ” 


352 


Light Ahead. 


“O, auntie dear, it is nothing but a composition 
for school. You know we are required to prepare 
one every two weeks.” 

“Never mind, let me see it, dear,” was the reply, 
given in persuasive tones ; and, having adjusted her 
glasses, she drew the paper gently from Alice’s re- 
luctant hand, and, seating herself by the window, read 
it to the end. 

“ Do you often write in poetry ? ” she asked, when 
she had finished. 

“Yes, ma’am, quite often.” 

“ Will you give me this ? ” 

“ O, Aunt Betsey ! what can you possibly want to 
do with my poor little poem ? It can’t be of any use 
to you.” 

“I may not be a very competent judge, but it 
strikes me that this is worthy of publication.” 

“ O, Aunt Betsey ! ” she again exclaimed, this time 
very joyfully The old lady’s kind interest at once 
gaining her confidence, she continued, “Do you know 
that is the dream of my life ? It is what I am study- 
ing and hoping for, to be able, some day, to write 
something that will be worth reading.” 

“ Kufus has an intimate friend who is editor of 
some magazine in Boston, and if you will let me take 
this, I will ask him to try to get it published for 
you.” 

“ Thank you ! ” she cried, eagerly, “ you may have 
it ; but I have never before allowed any one to see 


Light Ahead. 


353 


my pieces but my teacher — except, of course, mamma, 
when I was at home.” 

Hearing the merry voices of Fan and Maud as they 
opened the street door. Aunt Betsey quickly con- 
cealed the paper, of whose existence the two who 
now entered were in utter ignorance. 

“Aunt Betsey!” exclaimed Fan, rushing up to her 
and giving her a warm embrace, “of all people in the 
world, Fm glad to see youP 

“ It is very good of you to say so,” she answered, 
laughingly; “but I warn you that you may have cause 
to take that back before night. I’m going to stay all 
day, and Kufus is coming to dinner; so you’ll have 
enough of the Horton family for once.” 

“ O, that’s glorious ! ” exclaimed Maud, dancing 
around the room. Uncle Bufus always makes so 
much fun, and he hasn’t been here to dinner in 
an age.” 

“ It strikes me. Miss Maud, that your memory is 
slightly at fault, for he was here, in my company, not 
two weeks ago.” 

“ Well, it seems like an age to me, because he’s so 
jolly.” 

“ She means the age of one of her paper dolls ! ” 
exclaimed Fan, in a teasing tone. “You know they 
don’t live to be Methuselahs, Aunt Betsey.” 

“ Here,” said Aunt Betsey, taking from her pocket 
four little packages, “see if these will tame your 

ecstatics, and enable you to exist until he arrives. 

23 


354 


Light Ahead. 


There’s one for each of you, and here’s another for 
E'ellie. I need not neglect her, if she is a little girl 
no longer.” 

Each neatly folded paper was soon opened, disclos- 
ing a web-like handkerchief of finest linen cambric, 
deftly and daintily embroidered by the hand of the 
donor. A monogram, encircled by a delicate spray 
of tiny flowers and leaves, with the graceful, curling 
tendrils of the grape-vine, appeared on each. 

A simultaneous exclamation, “ O, how lovely ! ” 
burst from the trio. 

‘‘You dear, generous Aunt Betsey! you are al- 
ways — ” 

Maud’s enthusiasm was cut short by the entrance 
of Tony, who came in quest of Mrs. Ormsbee. His 
appeal to Fannie was answered with her character- 
istic propensity for inquiry, 

“ She’s gone out. What do you want of her ? ” 

“Mr. Ormsbee sent me up from the office to 
say that he will bring a guest home with him to 
dinner.” 

“Who is it?” she asked, abruptly. 

“ I don’t know. Miss Fannie ; Mr. Ormsbee did not 
tell me.” 

Mrs. Ormsbee and FTellie returned full of the 
merits and miseries of the family they had been vis- 
iting, and at once proceeded to form plans for their 
relief, assisted by Aunt Betsey’s ever ready sympathy 
and prompt action. 


Light Ahead. 


355 


“ O, mamma ! ” exclaimed Fan, rushing breath- 
lessly into the room, “ papa sent Tony home to say 
that he is going to bring company to dinner. Can 
you guess who it is ? ” 

“No, Fan, I have not the most remote idea, and 
have very little curiosity about the matter. Some 
of your father’s friends, of course; we shall know 
whom all in good time.” 

“About four o’clock Uncle Kufus entered, accom- 
panied by Tony. 

“ Nell ! ” shouted the former ; “ where’s Nell ? 
Come,” he said, with a merry wink at her mother, “ I 
want you to go with me.” 

“ Where ? ” she asked. 

“Never mind where. Just come along.” 

Nellie hastened up stairs to put on her street gear, 
and in an incredibly short space of time the stealthy 
closing of the street door announced their departure 
in a most mysterious manner. 

“ Some of Kufus’s pranks,” commented his admir- 
ing wife, and there the matter dropped, only to be 
renewed, however, by the inquisitive Fan, when, 
after a two-hours’ absence, they returned, immova- 
ble to all her importunities. Questions and conject- 
ures were alike unavailing. 

“Now, Fan,” said Uncle Kufus, “you may just as 
well hold that saucy tongue of yours, for no amount 
of pleading will induce me to unfold the ‘ book of 
fate ’ which I hold in my hands.” 


356 


Light Ahead. 


I’ll ask Tony,” she said, with a defiant nod of her 
pretty little head. 

“ Do,” he replied, in a mocking tone. “ Tony has 
sworn allegiance to our cause. You couldn’t bribe 
him to tell you. Fire and sword wouldn’t make him 
reveal it.” 

“ I don’t care ; I can wait,” she answered, as she 
executed a pirouette, and danced out of the room. 

When the carriage returned with Mr. Ormsbee 
the deepening October twilight revealed the manly 
form and noble features of Dr. Parker. Uncle Pufus 
threw open the door, and, advancing to the carriage, 
cordially grasped the hand of the new-comer. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ormsbee, “ Dr. Parker ! 
You are most welcome ! Fred sent me word that 
he would bring a guest home with him, but left it to 
my very fertile imagination to guess whom. As such 
occasions are by no means rare, I have not taxed 
myself very severely to decide the question ; but, I as- 
sure you, the discovery gives me infinite pleasure.” 

“ Thank you ; I am happy to see you all again. 
Being in Boston for a day or two, I could not think 
of returning without seeing my young friend, and 
acting as mouth-piece between her and her friends in 
my own city. I hope you are in your usual health, 
sir?” he added, turning to Uncle Bufus. 

“ I am very well, sir ; always well. I have an in- 
heritance of unbroken health, without a flaw in its 
title deed.” 


Light Ahead. 


357 


“ Then, I trust, you appreciate your heritage, and 
are duly sensible of its value. Ah, daughter, how 
are you ? ” 

“Yery well, sir,” replied Alice, advancing toward 
minister, and accepting his proffered hand ; “ but the 
please tell me, is mamma well, and all the rest at 
home ? ” 

“ Yery well, indeed. I called there before I left 
the city,- to glean all the items which might be inter- 
esting to you, and, I assure you, all is favorable. I 
also met Mrs. Chandler, on my way to the depot, 
looking as rosy and happy as possible.” 

“ Come, doctor,” said Mr. Ormsbee, entering, 
“ let’s go up stairs and perform our ablutions before 
dinner.” 

“ Thank you ; I am rather dusty and travel-soiled, 
and feel as though a dip of face and hands in cold 
water would be acceptable, besides rendering me more 
presentable to the ladies.” 

“ Mrs. Ormsbee,” said her guest at dinner, “ you 
have gathered quite a bevy of young ladies around 
you. They have advanced considerably since I saw 
them.” 

“ Yes,” she replied, with a matronly air ; “ I begin 
to feel the accumulated weight of years upon my 
brow.” 

“Mamma!” exclaimed ITellie, “what an absurdity! 
‘ The accumulated weight of years ’ upon that smooth 
brow of yours ! Ko one will ever think of calling 


358 Light Ahead. 

my little mamma old, with her luxuriant hair and 
fine teeth.” 

“ More than can be said for her daughter,” chuck- 
led Uncle Kufus. “Ah, ^Tell, you needn’t fiatter 
yourself that you bear any resemblance to your 
youthful mother. You will look hke a grandma 
before she reaches the dignity of one. Fan here is 
the beauty of the family, and her beauty is akin to 
that of the illustrious quadruped to whom is ascribed 
the honor of our progenitorship.” 

“^^^ow. Uncle Rufus,” retorted that young lady, 
“ if I were good at repartee, I should say that there 
was much more similarity between yourself and that 
one whose wardrobe is so extensive that he is obliged 
to carry his trunk wherever he goes.” 

“Perhaps, Miss Fannie,” interposed Dr. Parker, 
“ Mr. Horton is of that class who hold in veneration 
the aforesaid progenitor, in which case his comparison 
was certainly a compliment of the highest order.” 

“ I don’t know,” she replied ; “ but one thing I do 
know, he’s a dear old humbug. He doesn’t mean 
half he says.” 

“Uncle Rufus and Fan,” said Mr. Ormsbee, “al- 
ways wage a war of words when they meet. They 
make me think of two clouds heavily charged with 
electricity ; as soon as they approach each other there 
is always a report.” 

“ Good, Fred ! ” exclaimed Aunt Betsey. “ Rufus 
is always in a positive state of electricity when he 


Light Ahead. 


359 


meets Fan, and that happens which may always be 
expected under such circumstances — a concussion.” 

“Well, well, Fan,” rejoined Uncle Kufus, in a 
conciliatory tone, “if you and I emulate the light- 
ning’s flash and the thunder’s roar, it may be that we 
produce the same effect upon the moral atmosphere 
that those elements do upon the physical. At all 
events, the sun always shines afterward.” 

“ Yes,” she answered, “and brightly, too.” 

Amid the clatter of merry tongues which fllled the 
parlors an hour later. Dr. Parker seated himself by 
Alice for a few moments of quiet convei*sation. 

“Miss Alice,” he commenced, in his peculiarly 
kind, sympathetic tones, “perhaps you recollect vol- 
unteering to me some speculations as to what you 
would find in the future which stretched before you. 
May I ask if your experience thus far has been pleas- 
ant or otherwise ? ” 

“ O, pleasant ! ” was her eager reply, “ most pleas- 
ant ; very much more so than I thought. Every one 
is so kind to me. Dr. Parker, that I cannot think it 
otherwise. Do you know I often think of what Da- 
vid says : ‘ The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant 
places.’ It is David who says so, is it not, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, and I am rejoiced to find, my dear girl, that 
your thoughts turn so involuntarily to the word of 
God.” 

“ Yes,” she answered, quickly, “ but I don’t think 
any credit belongs to me for that, because it is due to 


360 


Light Ahead. 


my early instruction. I was tauglit the Bible as soon 
as I could speak, and am much, very much more 
familiar with that than with any other book.” 

“ You will find none in the whole range of liter- 
ature so worthy your constant reading and study — 
none so replete with fitting and appropriate similes, 
with sublime thoughts and beautiful imagery. If 
you make that the man of your counsel and the guide 
of your youth, you will never go far from the strait 
and narrow way. It contains a solution of every 
doubt, a balm for every wound.” 

‘‘ Do you think,” she asked, looking earnestly in- 
to his face, “that mamma grieves very bitterly for 
papa’s death?” 

“Not bitterly, Alice, but sincerely. Bitter grief 
must necessarily contain an element of rebellion, and 
there is nothing of that nature in her unfeigned 
mourning. Your mother is a Christian. There is the 
kernel of the nut — fair, smooth, and unmarred, and 
the heavy blow which removed the outer covering 
has but revealed its inner sweetness. She grieves, 
indeed, but not as those without hope. To your 
father death was but the hand which drew aside the 
veil, and disclosed the glories of the before invisible 
world ; and she is waiting for the same kind hand to 
perform a similar office for her.” 

“ I hope — ” 

Alice’s wish, whatever it might have been, was 
never expressed, for at this moment a merry shout 


Light Ahead. 


361 


was heard, simultaneoHsly with which a perfect 
shower of mottoes and loose sugar-plums came rain- 
ing down upon the astonished group, followed by 
tiny bouquets so dexterously hurled that each one 
found an appropriate lodgement. 

“ O ! ” exclaimed Fan, clapping her hands, “ Con- 
fetti ! confetti ! a Roman carnival ! ” 

Amid peals of laughter and dodging of heads the 
pelting continued, until the stock of ammunition and 
the breath of the performers were alike exhausted. 

“ FTow,” said Mr. Ormsbee, after the dodging and 
scrambling, the laughing and shouting had in some 
measure subsided, “ I suppose it is in order to dive 
into the hearts of these dainty little conceits, and see 
what their fancy papers and delicate ribbons conceal. 
Probably a sugar-plum, and something sweeter still in 
praise of an arched eyebrow, or a dewy lip, or some 
such nonsense.” 

“ You never wrote such nonsense, did you. Uncle 
Fred ? ” asked Maud, with a merry glance at her aunt. 

“Not I. No such silly stuff ever emanated from 
this profound brain. Ask Aunt Mary.” 

“ Aunt Mary declines to be interviewed upon that 
subject, lest her truthful tongue do mischief,” was 
the laughing rejoinder. 

“Here, Fan!” shouted Uncle Rufus, “here’s one 
that just suits you,” and he proceeded to read aloud, 

“ Saucy, unguarded, and beautiful fay. 

Laugh in the sunshine while yet it is May.” 


362 


Light Ahead. 


‘‘Well,” she replied, lightly, “I mean to laugh 
while I can. There is no harm in that, is there. Dr. 
Parker ? ” 

“ N^ot the slightest, so long as yonr mirth is inno- 
cent in its character. Laughter is wholesome in its 
effects, especially so because it is infinitely more 
becoming than tears. A pretty mouth wreathed in 
smiles is a very pleasant sight, Miss Fannie. Alice^ 
how will this do? Shall I follow Mr. Horton’s 
example ? ” and without waiting for a reply, he read, 

“ Minerva o’er her stately temple still presides, 

And to a favored few her ancient lore confides.” 

“That isn’t true,” said practical Maud. “Miner- 
va’s temple is in ruins.” 

“ Give wings to your imagination, Maud,” said 
Hell, “and fancy a goddess presiding over the whole 
realm of learning, and you have the idea.” 

“ I am not possessed of any imagination. Hell ; I 
never can fancy any thing. Every thing is real to me.” 

“So real,” said Uncle Kufus, “that if an angel 
were to present himself before her, she would imme- 
diately subject him to a test of her mortal hands to 
ascertain if he were spirit or substantial fiesh and 
blood, with veins, muscles, and sinews similar to her 
own.” 

“ How ! ” exclaimed Fan. “ Just in time ! I think 
this must have been written for you. Uncle Pufus, 

“ ‘ Who sets that witty tongue in motion, 

Had better be submerged in ocean.’ ” 


Light Ahead. 


363 


Ah, Fan ! it is well that onr tilts are only those 
of the tongue. If they were conducted with any 
sharper weapon, somebody would assuredly be in- 
jured.” 

‘‘He forgets,” said Alice, in a low tone to Dr. 
Parker, “ that the Bible says, ‘ The tongue is a sharp 
sword.’ ” 

“ It has been suggested to me, Mr. Horton,” said 
that gentleman, “that in an ancient book, written 
many hundred years ago — a book, by the way, of 
which your library may boast a copy — you will find 
something in relation to the tongue, which compares 
it to a sharp sword.” 

“ y es, sir ; and in consideration of the antiquity 
and veracity of that ancient book, I grant that the 
aforesaid member may prove a dangerous weapon — 
of course, in the possession of less skillful skirmishers 
than Fan and myself.” 

“It would be presumption in us, sir, to dispute 
that you are both unique in wielding the weapon 
whose skillful use has been by acclamation conceded 
to the sex of your fair combatant.” 

“How,” said Alice, with a vivid blush, “I am 
sure you are entitled to this,” handing him a slip of 
paper, on which he read the following : 

“ When clerical wit and good humor we find, 

With wisdom and knowledge and goodness combined, 

The union a genus most noble hath planned, 

With courage and virtue and honesty manned.” 


364 


Light Ahead. 


“ Thank you,” he answered. “ Rather flattering, 
and I am afraid — ” 

“ Here ! here ! ” interrupted Uncle Rufus, “ what 
does all this by-play mean ? Ho contraband goods 
allowed here. Every thing is to be public — not 
done in a corner,” and seizing the offending paper 
from the hand of the laughing clergymen, he pro- 
ceeded to read it in most emphatic tones. 

‘‘ Miss Alice,” whispered Tony, stepping shyly to 
her side, ‘‘ this certainly means you — 

“ ‘ Sly, gentle puss, your blushes spare, 

They should not tinge a cheek so fair.’ ” 

“Your comparison to a Roman carnival. Miss 
Fannie, was apt, except in one particular,” said Dr. 
Parker, during a lull of the noisy mirth, and that 
quite an important one. We have had here the 
flowers and the sugar plums, but happily we lacked 
the third element, the confetti, which, being com- 
posed of bits of lime, about the size of a pea, are de- 
cidedly dangerous to the faces and eyes of the crowd 
among whom they are thrown. Our pleasure has 
been unmarred by any discordant element, and there- 
fore our enjoyment has been real.” 

“ Were you ever in Rome ? ” asked Fannie. 

“ Yes, I was there once, during all the carnival 
festivities, and an animated scene it was, I assure you. 
I occupied a position in a balcony on the Corso, where 
it is to be seen in its full glory. I had a fine view 


Light Ahead. 


365 


of all the proceedings without being obliged to par- 
ticipate in them.” 

“ How long does it last ? ” inquired Alice. 

“ It extends through the eleven days immediately 
preceding Ash Wednesday, which, you know, is tlie 
commencement of Lent, although but eight days are 
actually given up to gayety, the two Sabbaths and 
Friday being strictly Church days.” 

“ Of what do these gayeties consist ? ” asked FTellie. 
“I have read accounts of these things, but a living 
description of a person who has been an eye-witness 
would be delightful.” 

“ They consist of almost every thing which at all 
partakes of the nature of fun. Pelting and showering 
of bon-bons, bouquets, and the famous confetti, which 
are either thrown by the hand, or skillfully ejaculated 
through a tube. The houses are decorated with long 
streamers of every color ; the Corso, which is a nar- 
row street about a mile long, is hedged in by a double 
row of carriages going in contrary directions filled 
with gayly dressed ladies and gentlemen, and every 
thing wears a general air of festivity. All manner of 
practical jokes are carried out, and fun, hilarity, and 
sometimes villainy are the order of the day.” 

Summons to the dining-room interrupted Dr. 
Parker’s description. Repairing thither, they found 
the table surmounted ' by a pyramid of ice-cream, 
fianked by cake, fruits, etc., in the most tempting 
array. 


366 


Light Ahead. 


“What does this mean ? ” asked Mrs. Ormsbee, as 
she surveyed her own table, spread without her orders. 
“ Fred Ormsbee, how dare you do this without my 
knowledge and consent ? ” 

“ I am utterly ignorant of the affair,” he replied, in 
pretended terror of his wife’s displeasure. “ I assure 
you, not one cent of mine has been spent for all this 
tomfoolery.” 

“]N^ow, Uncle Eufus!” exclaimed Fan, triumph- 
antly, “you and iN’ell are welcome to your secret ; it 
is ours now just as much as yours.” 

“You can’t but say that we kept it well. ITell and 
I are first-class caterers, and we know how to keep 
our own counsel.” 

“ It must have been sweet counsel in this case,” 
said Dr. Parker. 

“ Decidedly cold, I should say,” chimed in Fan ; 
“ if it were any thing like this cream. Ugh ! I’m 
freezing ! ” 

“ There are no grapes so sour as those which hang 
beyond our reach. Fan. Perhaps if you had been 
admitted to our counsel it would have been warmer, 
possibly sweeter.” 

“ There is not the slightest doubt of it. I should 
have shaken you all up, till you were in a complete 
glow.” 

“ The refiex infiuence of which would have melted 
the cream,” supplemented Dr. Parker. 

“ Mr. Horton’s carnage ! ” announced the waiter. 


Light Ahead. 


367 


. “Ha! Fan; you and I must part. Would that 
time would admit of our smoking the pipe of peace 
together ; but I ordered the carriage at ten, and my 
coachman is promptness itself. !Never mind, Fan, 
in lieu of the calumet, take this,” pressing a resound- 
ing kiss upon either cheek. 

“Doctor Parker, you are certainly not going to 
leave us to-night,” said Mrs. Ormsbee, as the rever- 
end gentleman took up his hat and gloves. 

“ Thank you,” he replied. “ I have accepted Mr. 
Horton’s invitation. You are exceedingly kind, but 
I have a little business which must be attended to 
in the morning, and as I am due in Hew York in the 
evening, I must use some dispatch.” 

He had no opportunity for farewell words with 
Alice, but a warm pressure of the hand, and a cor- 
dial “Good-bye, daughter,” spoke to her heart the 
fervent blessing which his lips had no chance to 
form. 

“ Fred,” said Uncle Rufus, entering Mr. Ormsbee’s 
office, the next morning, “ that’s a likely lad you’ve 
got there.” 

“ Where ? ” he asked, looking up from his papers, 
with a smile. 

“ That Tony. I rather like him ; think there’s stuff 
in him.” 

“Yes,” was the rather preoccupied answer; “I 
think we will make something of the boy after 
awhile.” 


368 


Light Ahead. 


“ Ahem ! — seems to me you’re rather busy to-day, 
aren’t you ? ” 

“Well, yes, rather; excuse me a moment. Uncle 
Kufus, while I just nin over these papers, and then I 
shall be at liberty to talk to you.” 

Mr. Horton sat whistling about five minutes, when 
his nephew folded up the documents, and, inclosing 
them in an envelope, called out, 

“ Henry, take this to White, Marshall, & Co. Stop 
at the post-office on your way back, and return as 
quickly as possible.” 

“I will, sir,” answered the boy, and, bowing, he 
departed on his errand. 

“ How, Uncle Kufus — ” 

“ What do you say to a transfer ? ” he began, ab- 
ruptly. 

“ Transfer of what ? ” 

“Of interests, responsibility, or whatever you 
choose to call it. Fact is, Fred, I want that boy. 
Here I am, a selfish old fellow — ” 

“ Selfish ! ” interrupted his listener. “ You are any 
thing but selfish. I will not allow you to libel your- 
self so.” 

“Well, well, you know I have nobody that is de- 
pendent upon me for either support or happiness, 
except dear old Betsey. She and I are both getting 
on in years, and we want some one to pet and coddle ; 
some one who will pet and coddle us in return. You, 
with your happy family around you, don’t know 


Light Ahead. 


369 


what a desolate thing it is to grow old without anj 
young faces smiling up into yours, without any 
youthful hearts throbbing at your side, any one to 
love you and mourn for you when the grass is wav- 
ing over your grave.” 

“ What has brought you to such a vein of thought ? 
You are not wont to be morbid or sentimental 
in your feelings. You want stirring up. Come up 
to-night and have a battle with Fan. See if that 
will not scatter all these womanish fancies to the 
winds.” 

“Womanish! Do you call it womanish to desire 
to win the love of one’s kind ? To possess, if not the 
exclusive, at least, the true affection of some human 
being? Perhaps it is wrong — this seeking after 
human love and praise ; but I confess that it is my 
nature. I trust my Saviour is supreme in my heart, 
but it is a bitter thought that if I should lose my 
Betsey my hold upon earthly love would be by the 
frailest tenure whose sundering would be of small 
moment.” 

“You surprise me,” was the reply. “This is all 
nonsense. Why, I know of no one who would be 
more regretted than yourself, should it please God to 
remove you. Think of the scores whom you have 
helped to comfort, if not to competency, and then 
talk about not being missed or cared for. There is 
one household, at least, where your presence is al- 
ways welcome, and where your prolonged absence 
24 


370 


Light Ahead. 


would create sorrow and great darkness. My chil- 
dren all think there is no one like Uncle Kufiis.” 

May be so, because the old man makes sport for 
them; but, Fred, Betsey and I both want some one 
to whom, in a certain sense, we are necessary. IS^o 
one likes to feel that after he has been engulfed the 
ripples will quickly pass away, and leave the surface 
calm and clear, as though his submersion had never 
disturbed the glassy bosom of the stream. Selfish, 
it may be, but we all love to feel that some heart- 
throbs will follow our departure — that some hand 
will strike the chords in a minor key — and that with 
some loved one our memory will dwell, a perennial 
wreath of fragrance and beauty. I want a feeling 
as near akin to fatherhood as may be. I7ow, if you. 
will let me have that boy, I will adopt him, and 
grant him all the privileges which- 1 would have ac- 
corded to my own son, if it had pleased the great 
Father to have honored me so much. He shall have 
a full collegiate course, the choice of any profession, 
and shall inherit the bulk of my property when I am 
done with it. Don’t deny me, Fred ; my heart is set 
upon it. You have plenty to make your home bright 
and cheerful ; let me have my boy.” 

“ Of course, you shall have him, if such is your 
feeling,” replied Mr. Ormsbee, much touched by 
the unwonted seriousness of his tone and manner. 
“ Without doubt, Tony will be glad to make the ex- 
change. Have you hinted the matter to him ? ” 


Light Ahead. 371 

“Not a word, not a word ; I would not do that, 
you know, until I had obtained your consent.” 

“ That you have,” was the prompt rejoinder. 
“ Come up this evening, can’t you, and we will talk 
it over with Tony ? ” 

“ All right,” he answered, in his usual cheery man- 
ner, and, whistling a lively tune, he left the office. 

That evening, while conning his tasks for the next 
day, Tony was somewhat surprised by receiving a 
summons to the library. 

“Come in,” said Mr. Ormsbee, as the slight 
knock fell upon the door. “ Be seated, Tony, I wish 
to talk to you a little.” 

Tony glanced from one to the other of the two 
gentlemen, in doubt and some trepidation as to what 
could be the pui’port of a formal meeting which ap- 
peared to him rather portentous. His conscience 
acquitted him of any occasion for blame or fault- 
finding, and the perplexity was rising to fever heat, 
when Mr. Ormsbee said, 

“Well, Tony, are you ready to go back to Hodman 
Farm?” 

“ No, sir,” he replied, in a firm, manly tone. 

“ Why not ? ” asked Mr. Horton, with an abrupt- 
ness which almost startled the boy. 

“Because, sir, having given up that sort of life, 
and acquired a taste for sometliing higher and better, 
I propose to pursue it.” 

A low, prolonged h-e-m came from Mr. Horton’s 


372 


Light Ahead. 


compressed lips, and his nephew thought he detected 
an inward chubkle, which was indicative of intense 
satisfaction. 

Thanks to kind friends,” continued the boy, “ I 
have learned considerable, and there is that within 
me which tells me that I shall not stop here — that I 
shall know more; much more, before I die, that 1 
shall accomplish something and gain a name which 
will make them glad that they ever befriended me. 
At least, it shall not be my fault if I do not,” he 
added, while a burning flush stole over his plain 
features. 

“ That is bravely spoken, my boy,” said Mr. Orms- 
bee. “ Carry that resolution with you, and you will 
conquer all difficulties. Make the education which 
you have thus far received your stock in trade, and 
with the undaunted spirit which you manifest, you 
will double your capital in a short time. Many a 
boy has started out in life much younger than you, 
and under far less favorable circumstances, and 
reached high positions of trust and responsibility. 
In this independent country every one has a place 
in the general scramble for wealth and position. 
Always remember that God’s providen^ is over 
all. If you start with Arm principles of honor and 
integrity, determined to stand up for truth and 
justice, you may not accumulate treasure, as the 
world accounts riches, but you will have heavy in- 
vestments in another world. Solomon, you know, 


Light Ahead. 373 

says, ‘He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be 
innocent.’ ” 

Whither did all this tend ? After having been 
enticed from his former indolent content, was he 
to be cast off to angle for himself in a stream 
where many older and more experienced than he 
had, with supreme disappointment, drawn in a baitless 
hook? 

Mr. Horton had been drumming on the table near 
which he sat, a silent listener. How, however, a 
broad smile broke over his face, and, extending both 
hands, he said, 

“ Come hither, boy ! So you wouldn’t like to go 
to digging potatoes again, eh ? ” 

“ Ho, sir,” he answered, proudly ; “ and I have no 
intention of doing so. Kodman Farm will never see 
me there again in that capacity.” 

“Good for you!” exclaimed his listener, giving 
him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “You shall not 
go back there, Tony,” he added, with something like 
a sob in his voice. “ If you will go to brighten the 
home and hearts of two childless old fogies, you shall 
be a son to them in every thing but birth. Ho son 
ever had more affectionate or more indulgent parents 
than I promise you. You shall be the darling of our 
old age, and the pride and joy of our declining days. 
It will be sweet to have a son on whose broad, 
young shoulders I can roll off my burden of re- 
sponsibility and care, and who will smooth and cheer 


374 . Light Ahead. 

our journey down the hill by his affectionate min- 
istrations.” 

Tony was painfully embarrassed and utterly at a 
loss for a reply. At length, gathering his scattered 
senses, he said, with some hesitation, 

“ You cannot mean this, sir ? ” 

“ Mean it ! of course, I mean it. I never was so 
deeply in earnest but once in my life, and that was 
when I asked my Betsey to be my wife.” 

Then rising and throwing an arm around the boy’s 
shoulder, he proceeded, in persuasive accents, 

“ Come, my son, the son of my heart. You shall 
succeed to my name, and all that I have. By the 
way, I have never heard you called any thing but 
‘ Tony.’ What patronymic do you boast of ? ” 

“ My father’s name is Bishop, sir,” replied the boy, 
promptly. 

“Bishop! Ah! I see. Well, the truth is that I 
don’t care about my son being called ‘ Tony,’ because, 
you see, I don’t like it. I should like you to take my 
name, my boy, in order that it may be perpetuated ; 
so, if you don’t object, we will call you Bishop, and 
retaining simply the initial of the first, write it A. 
Bishop Horton. How will that do ? Bather more 
dignified than ‘ Tony,’ isn’t it ? ” 

“ Tony,” as we must still call him, was about, in un- 
equivocal terms, to coincide with Mr. Horton’s wish 
and seal the bargain, when the thought of poor old 
shambling Zeke and overworked, disheartened Polly 


Light Ahead. 


3^0 


came to him, with something like the natural affec- 
tion with which a child clings to a parent, even though 
he be poor, ignorant, and low down in the social 
scale. 

‘‘ Mr. Horton,” he replied, choking back the emo- 
tion which, boy though he was, for a moment clogged 
his throat, “ you are very kind to make me this offer 
— much kinder than I can understand. I am a poor 
boy, and can give you nothing in return.” 

“ Don’t want any thing in return but affection and 
obedience,” interrupted the excited old man. 

“ Those you shall have, sir, in any case, whether I 
can accept your kindness or not ; but you know, sir, 
my parents are living, and I, as a minor, am not at 
liberty to enter upon such an arrangement without 
their consent and approval. I will vn-ite to my 
father to-night, and communicate his answer to you 
as soon as I receive it.” 

“Well, well, you are right. Stupid donkey that 
I was, not to think so far. I suppose 1 must be con- 
tent. But you will come and live with us, at all 
events ; there can be no objection to that, even if 
you do not assume my name. Gather up a few duds 
that you may need to-night, and we will send for your 
trunk in the morning.” 

“ To-night, sir ? ” repeated the boy, in surprise. 

“ Yes, no time like the present. Betsey and I want 
our son with us, and she is at home, waiting impa- 
tiently to welcome him. Kun away now, and get 


376 


Light Aheap. 


ready. Your room is prepared for you, and you 
must occupy it to-night.” 

An hour later the doors of a stately mansion on 
aristocratic Beacon Street were opened to receive the 
adopted son and heir of Bufus Horton. 




% 


HEN Mr. Morrison took from the post-office a 



Vf letter bearing the superscription, “Mr. Ezekiel 
Bishop,” he scarcely recognized the title, the sobri- 
quet “ Zeke” being the only name by which its owner 
was ever addressed. 

“Wal!” exclaimed the latter, as he received his 
property from Mr. Morrison’s hand. “Who’s ben 
an’ wrote me, I’d like ter know ? ” Throwing him- 
self at full length on the grass, he proceeded, in a 
leisurely manner, to con, in his unskillful fashion, 
the rather lengthy epistle. 

“ La sakes ! ” he said, looking up at Mr. Morrison, 
who was standing near, “Ef I mustn’t go an’ tell 
Polly. She’ll hev a conniption, Polly will.” 

“ What’s the matter now, Zeke ? ” he asked, laugh- 
ing. “Does that letter contain any very startling 
intelligence ? ” 

“ Would yer b’lieve it! That ther’ boy o’ mine 
hes found a mighty rich man wot wants ter ’dopt him, 
an’ he aint satisfied with his own name wat’s allers ben 
good ’nough for him, but he wants him ter take 
his’n. Jist ’s if the boy’s father didn’t know enough 
ter name him.” 

“ Who is the man ? ” asked Mr. Morrison. 


I 


378 


Light Ahead. 


“ I can’t jist make eout the name egzacklj. H, no, 
it aint a H, it’s a K, K-o-r-t-o-n.” 

‘‘‘Horton!’ O! O! Well, Zeke, you may be 
very thankful that he has fallen into such good hands. 
Mr. Horton will make a man of him.” 

“ But don’t yer jist see, he wont be my boy no 
longer, cos he can’t go by my name no longer ! La 
sakes 1 ” he continued, suddenly changing his tone, 
“ I alius knowed ther was sunthin’ inter that boy. 
Didn’t I used ter tell Mister Ben so ? I knowed it, 
cos he used to lay reound in the grass lookin’ up 
inter the sky. I knowed he was a thinkin’ an’ a 
thinkin’, an some day I ’spect ter see sunthin’ o’ 
his wat ’ill make yer hair stan’ on eend.” 

“ I hope I sha’n’t see it then, Zeke.” 

“ Wal, I ’spect he’ll be a great man an’ wont take 
no notice o’ his father ; but, la sakes ! I must go an’ 
tell Polly. She don’t know nothin’ abeout it, an’ 
she’ll be dretful sot up, Polly will.” 

Mr. Morrison knew that in the midst of Zeke’s 
apparent unwillingness to accede to Mr. Horton’s 
wishes he was inwardly chuckling over his brilliant 
prospects — so he left him to follow the drift of his 
own peculiarities. 

One day, on his return from school, Tony found in 
his room a soiled, begrimed envelope, directed in a 
cramped, scraggy hand, evidently the work of an un- 
skillful penman. Opening it hurriedly, he found the 
following remarkable literary production : 


Light Ahead. 


379 


“ Son Tony : i alius knowed thar was sunthin’ more 
n yer an tker was in comon folks, cos yer was alius 
a layin round in the grass a lookin up i spect ef i let 
thet ere man hev yer yerl git ter be some hiferlutiner 
an yer wont never take no notice o yer ole father 
wal sonny yer may no lots an heaps o thins but i 
dunno s that any thin great yer no yersel sonny 
my eddication aint never done me no good but then 
i don’t keer any this here man he wants yer ter give 
up my name an take hisn i dont think hisns any bet- 
ter n mine the Bishops hes alius ben spectable ed- 
dicated peple but la sakes as Polly says it dont make 
no diference shes willin an so i spose ill hev ter be. 
“yer lovin father Zekel Bishop.” 

For the first time a flush of mortification dyed his 
cheeks as he thought of presenting the missive to 
Mr. Horton for his perusal. His resolution was 
quickly taken. He could not make this display of 
his father’s almost unparalleled ignorance, but he 
would make a verbal statement of its contents. Seek- 
ing his adopted father, for such he already consid- 
ered him, he gave a synopsis of the letter. The 
intelligence gave the old gentleman unmitigated de- 
light, and his thoughts instantly turned, lawyer-like, 
to the necessary legal formalities. 

“ You know. Bishop,” he said, rubbing his hands 
with boyish glee, “ I want the matter fixed so that I 
sha’n’t be robbed of my boy.” Looking at his watch, 


380 


Light Ahead. 


he continued : “ There is sufficient time to attend to 
it this afternoon. Let us go at once.” Seizing the 
arm of his companion, he trudged off to secure the 
accomplishment of his purpose. 

A few days subsequently, as the girls were on the 
croquet lawn, for an hour’s exercise, Maud, leaning 
leisurely on her mallet, exclaimed : 

“O, Fan! look down the street. See who is 
coming ! ” 

“His Judgeship!” announced Fan. A narue by 
which she had already begun to designate Tony, or 
Bishop, as we must now call him. 

“ He has stopped under the apple-tree, as I live. 
0 1 for some Maud Muller, with ‘ graceful ankles, 
bare and brown,’ to complete the picture.” 

Fan’s simile was, by no means, an unapt one, for 
in a moment Bishop 

“.Came slowly riding down the lane, 

Stroking his horse’s chestnut mane.” 

“Why, Tony!” shouted Fan, her tripping tongue 
utterly disregarding its use of the discarded name. 
“ What a lovely pony ! ” 

“ Isn’t she a beauty ? ” replied her owner, proudly, 
as he sprung from the saddle and patted her graceful 
head, “ She’s as gentle as a woman.” 

“ A bad comparison,” said Nellie, laughing ; 
“ women are not all gentle.” 

“That is the tribute which is generally paid to 


Light Ahead. 381 

them,” lie replied, lifting Lis cap, at least by tbe 
other sex.” 

“ What do you call her ? ” interrupted Maud. 

“ I have not named her yet,” he answered, sKghtly 
hesitating. “ I was hoping you young ladies would 
furnish me with a name.” 

“ Call her Diana,” suggested Fan. 

“What would be your choice, Miss Alice?” he 
asked, slightly coloring. 

“ Why, I scarcely know,” she replied, thoughtfully, 
“ and yet, if she were mine, I think I would call her 
Hippona.” 

“ Thank you,” he answered, quietly ; “ that shall 
be her name.” 

“ I suppose,” said Fan, abruptly, “ this is the first- 
fruits of the harvest you will reap. Uncle Kufus is 
generosity itself, and the mines of Golconda can 
hardly afford jewels rich enough to adorn one whom 
he loves.” 

“Here is another proof of the truth of your 
words,” he replied, displaying a costly watch and 
chain which he had that morning received. 

“Ah, Tony,” said Kellie, “you are a lucky boy.” 
Then, recollecting herself, she added, “ Girls, we 
must positively teach our tongues to address this 
young gentleman by his new name. Uncle Eufus 
will be displeased.” 

“ Wliew ! I have almost forgotten my errand,” re- 
joined the boy, quickly. “ Mr,— my father proposes 


382 


Light Ahead 


that we shall all go to the woods on Saturday to 
gather nuts. He says the nipping frost of the last 
few nights will bring them down in showers. We 
will take our luncheon and have a jolly time.” 

“ 0 glorious ! ” exclaimed Maud and Fan, simul- 
taneously ; and the latter continued, A day in the 
woods will be delightful.” 

Mallets and balls were quickly gathered up, and 
the jubilant group eagerly repaired to the house to 
acquaint Mrs. Ormsbee with the projected trip. 

Breakfast was but just dispatched on Saturday 
morning when Uncle Bufus’s cheery voice was heard 
sounding from the lawn, where, as generalissimo, he 
was marshaling his forces. The pure October air 
seemed to have infused its vitalizing properties into 
his blood, for he was as spry and frisky as the young- 
est of the party. By nine o’clock they commenced 
the ascent of a steep hill, whose summit was crowned 
by a dense forest, thickly interspersed with chestnut- 
trees, whose treasures were to be transferred to the 
numerous bags and baskets provided for the purpose. 

“ Uncle Kufus,” asked Maud, “ do the chestnuts 
grow thickly here ? ” 

“ Thick as blackberries. They are literally as the 
Irishman expected to find the gold in the streets 
when he came to America. ‘ Faith,’ he said, ‘an’ I’ll 
not be takin’ me ould duds wid me. Sure, I’ll be 
rich intirely when I git there. I’ve only to shtoop 
and pick up the goold be handfuls.’ ” 


Light Ahead, 


383 


“ Simj)leton ! ” exclaimed Fan. But, after all, 
may be we’ll find the chestnuts just about as plenty 
as he did the gold.” 

“ Unbeliever,” was the stem reply, while the 
speaker assumed an angry scowl. “ Is it possible 
that you do not credit my report of this goodly 
land ! I tell you we have only to put forth our 
hands and secure the prize. In punishment of your 
doubt of my unquestionable authority, I hereby pro- 
hibit you from your share of the spoil, and forbid, 
upon pain of a similar sentence, any assistance to be 
tendered to you by my coadjutors.” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed Fan ; what a dear, inexorable 
old tyrant it is.” 

‘‘ A veritable Shylock, as you will find to your 
cost, unless some generous Portia comes to your 
relief.” 

“ That she will be sure to do,” she retorted, gayly. 
“ I see a Portia-like sympathy in Alice’s eyes.” 

“ What if my eyes speak false sentiments ? ” 

“ They do not. They are pure, truthful eyes. I 
will trust them.” 

“ How, doubter ! ” exclaimed Uncle Pufus, as he 
drove into the heart of the forest, and reined in his 
horses, “ I condemn you to solitaiy state. Keep your 
seat while the rest appropriate your share of the nutty 
treasure.” 

“I obey your mandate,” she replied, laughing 
heartily. Jumping lightly to the ground, she scam- 


384 : 


Light Ahead. 


pered off, and, gathering a double handful of ciisp, 
dried leaves, she scattered them in a shower of frag- 
ments all over the jolly figure before her. 

The woods were gorgeous in the October sunlight. 
The stately oak, with its autumn vestment of russet 
hue, lifted its dignified head toward heaven, while 
the maple and birch flaunted their crimson and yel- 
low banners in the face of the blue sky. 

“ Take care. Miss Alice,” said Bishop, approach- 
ing her ; “ these burs are not intended for delicate 
fingers to open. Let me beat out the nuts for you ; ” 
and, suiting the action to the word, he went vigor- 
ously at work. 

“ISTo, Alice,” said Uncle Kufus, who stood near, 
and heard Bishop’s remark, “they are not. They 
are like the trials of this life. They present a rough 
exterior, but contain the germs of much sweetness 
and ultimate good.” 

“ Yes,” she replied, “ and how beautiful they 
look with their glossy coats against their satiny 
beds.” 

“ Uncle Bufus,” said Nellie, piteously, “ I have 
scratched my hands sadly. Will you please beat out 
the nuts for me ? ” 

“No wonder,” he retorted ; “ such white kid hands 
were not made to open chestnut burs.” 

“ White kid hands ? ” she repeated. 

“ Yes ; what do you call these ? ” he asked, seiz- 
ing both her hands, and smoothing the delicate skin. 


Light Ahead. 385 

“ Ah, Nell, they are not fit for the rough and tumble 
of life, are they ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Uncle Eufus. You know the back 
is fitted for the burden, and so, I suppose, the hands 
are, too.” 

“ Yes,” he replied, wdth a serious smile, “ ‘ He know- 
eth all them that are his,’ and he provideth for them, 
too.” 

“ See ! see ! ” exclaimed Fan, rushing up and dis- 
playing a well-filled basket of somewhat diminutive 
proportions. “ What’s the matter, Nell — hurt your 
hands?” 

“Yes; I scratched them fearfully with the burs. 
Why, yours are not at all injured.” 

“ No, no,” laughed Uncle Kufus, “ her brown paws 
can stand any thing. How now, Fan, off for another 
basket of trophies ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered. “Portia and I are doing 
wonders in the nut-gathering line, only she is so quiet 
about it.” 

“You! you had better say Portia. Quiet people 
do the work. You bustlers never accomplish much 
beyond a continual buzz.” 

“ Now, Uncle Kufus, we believe in the division of 
labor. I beat them out, and she gathered them.” 

“ That’s all right. Fan ; my impression was that 
she did all the work and you took all the praise.” 

“ A grand mistake, sir,” she quickly retorted, as she 

capered off to join her colaborer. 

25 ‘ . 


386 


Light Ahead. 


What are you thinking about, Alice ? ” asked 
Uncle Kufus, a few moments later, as the latter stood 
thoughtfully regarding a broken cluster from whose 
inmost heart the contents had just been removed. 

I was thinking,” she replied, “ how much these 
rough, ugly-looking things are like some human 
beings.” 

Yes,” said Kellie, they turn all that is sharp and 
rugged in their natures toward us, while they conceal 
in the inmost recesses of their hearts an untold wealth 
of gentleness and love.” 

“ Your description, Kellie,” said Uncle Kufus, 
‘‘exactly tallies with that of a man whom I once 
knew. He was a perfect porcupine, the sharp quills 
bristling all over him to ordinary observers — I was 
about to say associates, but of the latter he could 
boast but few. Men do not care to consort with one 
of that temperament. He always reminded me of a 
cat, whose fur is full of electricity, and is standing 
on end, giving the animal a ruffled, angry appearance. 
Well, this man, while he presented that aspect to his 
equals, would go to the alleys and by-ways of the city, 
and, gathering the ragged little urchins, would entice 
them to some baker’s shop, where, after supplying 
their childish demands, he would, as though ashamed 
of his weakness, with a harsh word send them all 
scampering back to their wretched homes, as though 
the demon of destruction were at their heels. Dumb 
brutes and birds partook of his care, and he has often 


Light Ahead. 3S7 

made tlie fatherless to rejoice and the widow’s heart 
sing for joy.” 

“ What an anomaly such a character presents,” said 
^7ellie. “ It seems strange that such contradictory 
traits can exist in one person.” 

“ [N’ot so strange, Nellie,” answered Uncle Kufus, 
“ when we consider that we are all creations of the 
one great Spirit, who plants within us the germs of 
these incongruous traits, and can, if he so will, de- 
velop and assimilate them, thus forming a solid char- 
acter of wondrous beauty and power.” 

Suddenly a blast swept through the branches over- 
head, wailing and soughing among the pines, and 
swaying the scions of the forest with a power which 
threatened to uproot even the parent tree. 

“ Whew ! ” exclaimed Uncle Kufus. “ There’s go- 
ing to be a tempest. Bishop, my boy, we must hasten 
to get these pieces of porcelain under shelter before 
the storm breaks upon us.” 

“Porcelain, indeed!” retorted Fan, indignantly; “I 
am formed of no such frail material, thank you. Nell 
and Alice are the delicate ones. Look out for them. 
I am not afraid to face the storm. I am made of iron 
nerves, muscles, and sinews.” 

“ True courage is like charity,” replied Uncle 
Kufus, dryly. “It vaunteth not itself. It will sur- 
prise me, Fan, if you do not prove the most timid of 
all. Delicate bodies often contain the most courageous 
and invincible hearts.” 


388 


Light Ahead. 


Fan’s reply was checked by a blinding flasli of 
lightning, accompanied by a crashing peal of thun- 
der, which shook the forest to its center, unsettling 
the loose earth and fragments of rock which, at some 
past time, had suffered upheaval. The hearts of the 
trembling group began to quail, and they turned 
eagerly to Uncle Eufus, as though protection from 
the elements lay within his scope and power. Even 
Fan forgot to boast of her bravery, and settled down 
to her place in the open carriage without her usual 
light-hearted badinage. 

“Now, Bishop,” said Uncle Eufus, “we will press 
forward as rapidly as possible, and may be at home 
before the storm reaches its height. If not, we must 
seek shelter elsewhere.” 

“Hark,” said Nellie, “how the wind shrieks among 
these tall trees! Do let us get away immediately. It 
sounds so weird and unearthly.” 

The wind being in that direction bore to their ears 
the hoarse roar of the ocean, as the white-crested 
breakers thundered in upon the shore, increasing the 
terror which was fast settling upon them. 

Bishop had mounted his pony, and was riding 
silently by Alice’s side, having an instinctive feeling, 
which inheres in all true hearts of the other sex, that 
a delicate woman is, in herself, a mute appeal for pro- 
tection and sympathy. 

The heavens were enfolded in impenetrable folds 
of inky blackness, while the rain beat upon their 


Light Ahead. 


389 


unprotected heads with, terrible persistency. They 
had left the woods behind them, and nothing sheltered 
them from the unmitigated fury of the storm. Sleet, 
hail, and rain came against their enduring cheeks, 
drenching them to the skin, and almost blinding both 
horses and riders. All they could do was to urge the 
horses forward at their utmost speed, and the noble 
animals, seeming to realize the situation, dashed on, 
nor for one moment abated their speed. 

“Keep stout hearts, girls!” said Uncle Kufus, turn- 
ing to the little huddled group. “We’ll be at home 
before very long. Hero and Koble can cover a great 
deal of ground in a short time. Bishop,” he added, 
“ we must be near some human habitation, although 
it is so thick and dark that I cannot see. You had 
better go on and seek shelter, and we will follow.” 

“Yes, sir,” he answered; “and, if I am not mis- 
taken, I see a light before me now.” 

Bishop’s vision was not deceived, and he soon came 
to a blacksmith’s shop, whose anvil-lire was the light 
which had greeted him through the thick darkness. 
Dashing up to the door, he inquired if there were a 
house near where a drenched party could find a shel- 
ter from the storm. 

“Yes,” was the ready response, “my house is a 
few rods farther on. Don’t be backward, sir ; you 
will find shelter there. My old woman will do all 
she can to make the ladies and gentlemen comfort- 
able.” 


390 


Light Ahead. 


“Thank you,” replied the boy; “but, with your 
permission, I will remain here until the others come 
up, and will proceed with them.” 

“ All right, sir,” he answered, cheerily. “ That’s a 
fine beast of yourn.” 

“Yes,” replied Bishop, as he rubbed down her 
wet sides with a handful of straw. “ Ah ! here they 
come.” 

“Father!” he called out, as Uncle Kufus reined 
up his horses, “the blacksmith’s house is a few rods 
farther on ; he says we can go there.” 

“ Strikes me,” was the laughing reply, “ that this 
big, blazing fire is just what would suit our purpose, 
if we might be permitted to appropriate it.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” said the good-natured smith ; 
“ come in, and welcome.” 

The dripping, shivering group were soon steaming 
around the bright fire, hugely enjoying its warmth 
and cheer. An old shed adjoining the smithy afforded 
shelter for the horses and carriage, the cushions being 
removed from the latter, and placed in a position 
where they would be thoroughly dried, while Uncle 
Bufus and Bishop went vigorously to work rubbing 
down the drenched and panting horses. 

The storm continued with unabated violence, until 
Uncle Kufus, feeling that the smith must be thinking 
of closing up for the night, looked at his watch, 
exclaiming, 

“Six o’clock! Well, youngsters, we must make a 


Light Ahead. 


391 


move of some kind. Shall we push on through the 
storm ? ” 

“ W ould it be possible,” asked Nellie, to procure 
a covered vehicle of any kind ? ” 

“ Yes, miss, I think so,” replied the man. “ My 
neighbor, in the house next to mine, has a covered 
wagon I think you might get. It may not be very 
stylish,” he added, with a glance at Nell, ‘‘but it 
would keep you all dry.” 

“No matter for the style,” answered Uncle Eufus, 
“ as long as it will transport these young ducklings 
to the parent nest.” 

Without waiting to hear more Bishop vaulted 
into his saddle, again facing the driving storm to 
procure, if possible, some mode of dry transporta- 
tion. Dashing up to the door, he made known his 
errand to the woman, who promptly responded to 
his summons. 

“ I am sorry,” she answered, “but my husband went 
to Boston this morning, and has not got back.” 

Instantly his resolution was taken. He remembered 
having seen a livery stable some half a mile farther 
on, so, thanking the woman, he started on a hard gal- 
lop toward that as a last resort. His demand for a 
close carriage was met by the reply : 

“Well, we aint got but one close kerridge, and we 
don’t care to send it out in this drivin’ rain ; besides, 
that has to have two bosses, and one of mine’s lame, 
and it would be wuth a good deal to send him out 


392 Light Ahead. 

SHcli a niglit as this. How fur is the place from 
here?” 

Bishop hastened to inform him of the exact length 
of the trip he would be required to take, as also that 
he should be well paid for his services. Taking the 
latter assurance into consideration, he very amiably 
condescended to prepare his establishment for expos- 
ure to the elements. 

Bishop penciled a few lines on a card, which he 
desired the driver to hand to the gentleman, and then 
made as rapidly as possible for Mr. Ormsbee’s house, 
about ten miles away, in order to relieve the anxious 
minds he knew he should find there. 

Many exclamations of delight hailed the long- 
looked-for vehicle. 

Hero and Hoble were quickly prepared, Mr. Horton, 
from his sheltered seat in the hired carriage, holding 
the reins, and so the cavalcade started forward. The 
two well-trained steeds would have started briskly, but 
the poor lame beast labored painfully, and they were 
obliged to curb their impatience as best they might. 

“Hallo, driver!” shouted Uncle Kuf us, “when we 
reach your place we’ll change off. Detach your horses; 
mine will take us the rest of the way. I will leave 
my carriage in your care until morning.” 

“ All right, sir.” 

After fioundering about the wet roads, the poor, 
jaded horse was glad to stop for even a moment’s 
rest. 


Light Ahead. 


393 


“ Now, my man,” said Uncle Uiifus, “ we will dis- 
pense with your services. I will return in the 
morning and make a fair exchange.” 

Taking a bank-note from his pocket-book, he hand- 
ed it to the man with his card. 

“ Thank you, sir,” and with an obsequious bow he 
gathered up the reins and placed them in the out- 
stretched hand. 

Mr. Ormsbee’s house was -all alight, and never did 
its glow and cheer gleam so beacon-like as when 
breaking through the gloom and darkness of that 
stormy night. 

“Well, old woman!” shouted Uncle Rufus, as the 
face and figure of his wife greeted him from the open 
hall door. “ All right ! no broken heads.” 

“ Nor broken hearts,” supplied Mr. Ormsbee. 

“Bless you, no! Here, Mary, I’ve brought your 
chicks all back. Imagined all sorts of horrors, I’ll be 
bound.” 

“Not that,” she answered, smiling; “although I 
confess I should have been very anxious but for 
Bishop’s thouglitfulness.” 

“ Bless the boy ! Where is he ? ” 

“ Toasting before a glowing fire in the library.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


S IXTEEN to-day! Five years have passed with 

their usual velocity ; neither accelerated nor re- 
tarded by the fluctuations incident to the life of all. 
Alice found herself upon the threshold of life. The 
years which have gone have been but a passage-way 
to the great arena which now opens before her. 
Childhood and school days behind, before stretches 
the wide, unknown, untrodden future. As she sits 
in the quiet library, putting the finishing touches to 
the valedictory which she is to deliver to-morrow, her 
thoughts take a backward turn, and, laying down the 
paper, she closes her eyes, and yields to the memories 
that come clustering around her, like a swarm of 
humming-birds around the heart of a fragrant flower. 

She has studied hard, much beyond her strength, 
and attained the highest honors of the institution. 
To-morrow she expects to take leave of her Alma 
Mater and all its associations. 

‘‘And what then?” she asks herself. “What 
awaits me ? Shall I leave books and thoughts behind 
me, and, having finished my education, relapse into 
the intellectual nonentity which so many women be- 
come? Never! I firmly believe, without flattering 


Light Ahead. 


395 


myself, that God has given me talents, which are not 
to be wrapped in a napkin, but to be used, and, with 
his help, I am resolved to use them to the best pos- 
sible advantage for his glory and the good of my 
fellow-creatures. Why may I not write words wdiich 
shall prove a balm to some sorrowing heart? I am 
very young, but I have known sorrow, and out of that 
sad experience may be able to comfort some who are 
drinking the bitter dregs. Dear mamma ! O ! I shall 
see her in the morning, and darling Mabel, and auntie, 
too. It seems like too much happiness. 

‘‘ Dear, sweet Mabel ; I wonder if she is as happy 
now as before her marriage. She possesses such an 
unselfish disposition, no one would ever know if she 
were unhappy; she would keep it all within her 
own heart. But I will not fear for her, only I am 
so jealous of her peace of mind, I could not bear to 
see her disturbed. All this is very silly; Bobert 
seems kind and good — who could be otherwise to 
such a loving, gentle nature; so I will borrow no 
trouble on her account.” 

Hearing a footstep approaching, she opened her 
eyes and saw Aunt Betsey’s kind, sympathizing face 
smiling upon her. 

“Excuse me, dear,” she said, “for interrupting 
you, but Uncle Eufus and another gentleman are in 
the parlor waiting to see you.” 

“To see me?” she asked, in amazement; “what 
can they possibly want of me ? ” 


396 


Light Ahead. 


“ You will see presently. Eufus wanted to come 
right in here, but I thought I had better tell you 
first.” 

“Always kind and thoughtful,” replied Alice, 
gratefully, at the same time printing an affectionate 
kiss on Aunt Betsey’s withered cheek. 

“ Shall I let them come in ? ” 

“ Please.” 

Gathering up her papers, she turned, in wondering 
expectation, toward the door. 

“ Hallo, Alice ! ” was Uncle Eufus’s characteristic 
greeting, as he seized both her hands. “ I’ve brought 
an old friend to see you, one of the dreaded frater- 
nity of editors, with whom, I believe, it is your am- 
bition to have some dealings. Mr. Ludlum, my 
young friend. Miss Hamilton.” 

Alice smiled as she acknowledged the stranger’s 
greeting, but made no reply, waiting a further reve- 
lation from the ever-ready tongue of the first speaker. 
Hot a word did he vouchsafe, however, and Mr. Lud- 
lum hastened to relieve her embarrassment by saying, 

“ My friend, Mr. Horton, has given me rather an 
undesirable introduction. Miss Hamilton. I hope I 
shall yet have the opportunity of proving to you that 
I am not exactly that which he describes, a dreaded 
editor.” 

“ I hope not,” was her ambiguous reply, in her 
consternation scarce knowing whether that was a cor- 
rect answer, or whether she should have said, ■“ All, 


Light Ahead. 397 

yes, or no,’’ at the same time casting an appealing 
look at Uncle Eufus, to which that gentleman re- 
sponded by saying. 

Don’t look at me. Here, Lndlum, transact your 
own business, and remember it’s none of my doing. I 
wash my hands of the whole matter.” 

“Well, then, Miss Hamilton,” replied the latter, 
smiling, “notwithstanding Mr. Horton’s denial of 
any complicity in this affair, he has placed in my 
hands a poem which he represents to have been writ- 
ten by yourself. I will subinit to you the article 
in question, in order that you may be able to settle 
my doubt as to the degree of fraud of which my 
friend has been guilty, whether he has willfully mis- 
represented the authorship of the piece, or whether 
he has purloined your property from its private re- 
ceptacle.” 

“How, Ludlum,” replied the individual in ques- 
tion, “ I protest against this line of procedure. The 
poem, like several others which you, sir, have appro- 
priated to your own use and that of your readers, 
was handed me by my true and lawful wife, Mrs. 
Betsey Horton, with the information that this young 
lady aspired to authorship, and a request that I would 
assfst her to make it available. Eemembering that I 
had a friend who makes his living, and, if truth is to 
be told, a good surplus out of the brains of other 
people, it struck me that I might help him along by 
giving him another set of wits to work upon. How, 


398 


Light Ahead. 


Alice, see if you recognize your property, and acquit 
me of the charge of ‘ purloining it from its private 
receptacle.’ ” 

Seizing the paper, he commenced, in a declamatory 
tone, “Backward and Forward, by Miss Alice Ham- 
ilton,” and then read aloud the entire poem Alice 
scarcely recognized her own work, for Uncle Bufus’s 
declamation was of a fine order, and, becoming im- 
bued with the spirit of the young authoress, his 
rendering of it almost made her doubtful of its real 
authorship. 

“ O, Uncle Bufus ! ” she exclaimed, at its conclu- 
sion, “ that is my work, but how you have improved 
it ! What have you done to it ? ” 

“ Done to it 1 Hothing, I assure you ; nothing ! 
only brought out its fine points by my inimitable 
powers of oratory. How, judge ; am I cleared from 
this heinous charge ? ” 

“Cleared, and honorably discharged,” was the 
laughing reply. “How, Miss Hamilton, with your 
permission, I will publish your poem, which, allow 
me to say, is exceedingly creditable for an unfledged 
authoress. Will that remunerate you ? ” he asked, 
laying a ten-dollar note upon the table before her. 

“ O, Mr. Ludlum,” she cried, “ you cannot ifiean 
that. Why, the poem is only one of my school com- 
positions, and cannot be worth so much.” 

“Hone the worse for that, and you know I have 
had the gratuitous use of one or two of your produc- 


Light Ahead, 


399 


tions before ; so pray bave no scruples in accepting 
the money. I shall not be too generous, I promise 
you. I congratulate you,” he added, rising, and ex- 
tending his hand, “ upon your budding talent, and 
sincerely hope and predict that it will blossom out 
into a full-blown, fragrant, and remunerative tiower.” 

“ Thank you,” she answered, in a low tone, scarcely 
knowing whether the inclination to laugh or cry were 
uppermost. 

“Come, wife!” shouted Uncle Kufus, from the 
foot of the stairs; “stop your gossip, and come 
along. It’s time all respectable people were home- 
ward bound.” 

“Uncle Uufus!” exclaimed Alice, seizing his 
hands, and drawing him into the silent parlor, “ how 
shall I ever thank you ? ” 

“ Tut, tut,” he answered, stroking her cheek. 
“Kone of that, ’an you love me. Come, wife!” 
And closing the street door with a bang, the trio 
departed, leaving Alice standing in the deserted 
room. 

“ Ah ! ” she thought, “ is this a gleam of the bright 
future I have so long looked forward to? Ah! 
mamma darling, your daughter will accomplish some- 
thing yet.” 

That precious ten-dollar note ! Was it not a good 
omen ? an earnest of the abundant harvest which 
continued and more careful effort might yield ? 

She was too much excited to sleep well. Bright 


400 


Light Ahead. 


visions were constantly dancing before her eyes, the 
greater excitement of the evening completely over- 
shadowing the lesser one of the morrow, in which 
she was to play a conspicuous part. Already, in 
imagination, book after book had been written and 
published. Already she had reached the acme of her 
ambition — a successful authorship. 

O, mamma ! ” she exclaimed, with feverish im- 
patience, “ will the morning never come ? How 
slowly the hours draw themselves along.” 

Hising, she looked at her watch, auntie’s gift, 
nearly five years before. 

“Two o’clock! and I must wait until seven or 
eight — she cannot possibly be here sooner — before I 
can have a good talk with mamma with my arms 
around her dear, faithful neck. O, if the drowsy 
god would only perch upon my eyelids I ” 

Presently the shy little fellow took his station, as 
she desired, and kept the citadel well guarded until the 
merry sunlight had been for some time shining in her 
room. Opening her eyes, she uttered a cry of joy. 
The warm kiss was upon her lips, the fond arms 
around her neck, for whose loving pressure she had 
so eagerly longed. 

“ Are you ill, darling ? ” asked her mother, anx- 
iously. 

“Hot ill, mamma, but O, so tired; but I shall be 
rested now I have you. Where are the rest ? ” she 
added, looking around the room. 


Light Ahead. 


401 


“Auntie will be in presently. Mabel and Eobert 
have gone to the park, but will be here in the course 
of the morning. You had better get up and dress 
now, dear. Mrs. Ormsbee said breakfast would be 
ready in half an hour, and the time must be nearly 
up.” 

Alice essayed to obey her mother’s injunction, but 
when she attempted to rise her head swam, there was 
a sound as of the rushing of many waters in her ears, 
and, closing her eyes, she sank back upon the pillow 
in utter unconsciousness. She was unable to rise 
from her bed during the day, but insisted upon sus- 
taining her part of the evening’s entertainment. 

“ Alice,” said her mother, “ you are utterly unfit to 
undertake such a task. Had you not better give it 
up, darling? You are as colorless as your dress.” 

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar, entering, “if 
ever I saw a marble statue, here is one ! You are 
certainly not going out, Alice ! You look more like 
spirit than matter.” 

“ Nevertheless, auntie, I am essentially material — 
of the earth, earthy ; very earthy, too, I am afraid.” 

“ But seriously, Alice — ” 

“Seriously, mamma darling,” she replied, throw- 
ing her arms around her mother’s neck, and cutting 
off the expostulation with a kiss, “ I shall get along 
bravely, I assure you. The excitement will keep me 
up, and if I am ill afterward, I shall have you to 

nurse me well again.” 

26 


402 


Light Ahead. 


The spacious hall was crowded to excess, and the 
breath, of many flowers made the air heavy, when the 
young ladies of the graduating class entered and took 
the seats reserved for them, immediately in front of 
the platform. The exercises proceeded with marked 
success, amid many tokens of approbation from the 
audience ; but when the dainty, white-robed figure 
advanced, valedictory in hand, and, with* a graceful 
inclination, prepared to read from the paper she held, 
an audible murmur ran through the room. 

She commenced in full, clear tones, but after hav- 
ing read a sentence or two, a deadly paleness took 
the place of the slight tinge which excitement had 
painted upon her cheeks, and a crimson tide stained 
the filmy robe which auntie, with loving pride, had 
provided for her. She was conveyed to an adjoining 
room, where a physician was promptly in attendance, 
who insisted upon perfect rest and quiet as the only 
means of prolonging a life so frail, a spark so faint, 
that a rough breath might extinguish it. The hem- 
orrhage was stanched, but a recurrence of it, he said, 
would be more alarming than the first attack. 

.Mrs. Ormsbee hastened home, and causing a soft 
mattress and pillows to be placed in the carriage, sent 
it back, she herself remaining to see that every thing 
w^as in readiness for the comfort of the fair girl, who 
had attained a place in her afiections second only to 
that occupied by her own daughters. Like a White 
Lose, indeed, she looked as they bore her to her own 


Light Ahead. 403 

room, her cheeks vieing in paleness with the snowy 
pillow on which her lovely head reposed. 

“ Isabel,” said Mrs. Dunbar, entering the room 
where the former sat watching by the bedside of one 
who seemed more fit to be transported to the heav- 
enly land than to retread the dusty, thorny path- 
way of life, “I have telegraphed for Dr. Monroe. 
I will trust our darling in no other hands than 
his.” 

“ Thank you,” was the grateful reply, “ you have 
anticipated my own wish. If he says she must die, I 
will try to resign her to One who loves her even bet- 
ter than I do.” 

“ She is not going to die,” answered the stout- 
hearted friend ; “ we wiU nurse her back to life 
again.” 

Seating herself gently by the side of the anxious 
mother, she said, 

“ Alice is very dear to me. Remember she is the 
child of my dearest friend, that friend who led me to 
think of something besides the transitory pleasures of 
this life, to realize that I was formed for higher aims 
and purposes ; and I have seen in Alice’s pure, unob- 
trusive piety a beauty which I know was not of earth. 
O, Isabel ! ” she continued, with tearful eyes, if, as 
I trust and believe, I have found the Saviour, if I 
ever reach the home of the blessed, I believe it will 
be through you and your darling Alice.” 

“You have given me unspeakable pleasure, Mabel, 


404 


Light Ahead. 


even in the midst of my sorrow. Alice’s life has 
been a short one, but, if your words are true, she has 
not lived in vain. I thank my God that he has made 
my sweet child an instrument of good to so kind and 
generous a friend.” 

A slight tap upon the door announced the arrival 
of the physician, to whom Mrs. Dunbar communi- 
cated the fact of her having summoned Dr. Monroe. 

“ I am glad to hear that you have done so,” he 
replied, cordially. “ He cannot possibly be here be- 
fore evening. I will meet him here, if such is your 
pleasure, and resign the case into his hands, or act 
in concert with him, just as you may desire. The 
patient is doing well now, breathing naturally and 
sleeping calmly, but I can well understand your wish 
that she should receive the care of one who has known 
her from childhood.” 

' Eight o’clock brought Dr. Monroe, much shocked 
at the change in his young favorite, but, with his 
usual hopeful view of things, not by any means dis- 
posed to take a discouraging estimate of her con- 
dition. 

“ O, doctor ! ” asked Mrs. Hamilton, in faltering 
tones, ‘‘ must — ” 

“ My dear lady, I see no reason to apprehend that 
which you fear. Be comforted ; her youth may en- 
able her to triumph over the disease so entirely that 
there may never be a return of it. Let me assure 
you that both Dr. Delafield and myself will do all in 


Light Ahea.d. 


405 


our power, and I am quite sure you are willing to 
leave the result in higher hands than ours.’^ 

The physician’s words were like balm to the anx- 
ious heart, and, as the sequel proved, savored not too 
strongly of hope or encouragement. Alice improved 
rapidly, and at the end of two weeks was able to sit 
up the greater part of the day. Although pale and 
feeble, she gave promise of ultimate recovery and a 
reasonable share of health. 

One morning, as she was seated in a low rocking- 
chair, her white wrapper scarcely whiter than the 
slender hands which lay listlessly in her lap, Uncle 
Kufus’s hearty tones fell upon her ear as he ascended 
the staircase. A flush of pleasure overspread her 
pale features as he entered, closely followed by Aunt 
Betsey. 

“ O ! ” said Alice, brightly, “ how glad I am to see 
you, and dear Aunt Betsey, too. It seems like a 
glimpse of the outer world.” 

“ Good ! ” he exclaimed, cheerily. “ She’s as blithe 
as a bird this morning. What do you say, birdie, to 
going down stairs to chirp awhile ? There’s a nice, 
cozy lounge in the library, and Mary and my little 
woman have made up their minds that that’s just tlie 
place for you. These strong arms can easily carry 
such a mite and, seizing his unresisting burden, he 
carried her down stairs and deposited her as carefully 
as an infant among the downy cushions. 

The cool morning breeze was gently rustling over 


406 


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the flower-beds beneath the open window, swaying 
their delicate petals, and wafting in the odor of mign- 
onette and heliotrope, infusing fresh life and hope 
into the graceful form reclining there. 

It was a thankful, happy group that was gathered in 
that pleasant room, enjoying that delightful sense of, 
at least, a partial immunity from a wearing anxiety, 
which the recovery of a loved one always brings — 
that sweet feeling of restored companionship, the 
assured hope that there is to be no broken link in 
our chain of love, that our household idol is not to 
be shattered. How joyful the assurance that our in- 
dulgent Father is about to intrust the treasure to our 
keeping a little longer. 

Who that has seen this dread shadow remove but 
bus felt his heart spring up with a quick rebound un- 
der this inspiring influence. Surely this is not the 
same world which wore for us an aspect so somber. 

Presently a peal at the door-bell warned them that 
this pleasant scene was to be broken in upon, not un- 
pleasantly, however, as it appeared when the servant 
announced, 

“ Dr. Monroe.” 

“Well, well,” he said, gayly, “this looks like re- 
covery. Ha, little one ! so you have crept out of your 
nest, have you ? ” 

“ O, doctor ! ” she said, seizing his outstretched 
hand, “ I am so glad to be down stairs again, and so 
glad to see you, too,” she added, laughing. 


Light Ahead. 


407 


“Glad to get better, eb? Well, it strikes me, 
you’re not alone there. I think somebody else is 
glad, too.” 

“ Doctor,” said Mrs. Dunbar, “ I have a project in 
my head which requires your professional sanction ; 
but I am afraid — I am not sure — I don’t know.” 

“Nor I either,” interrupted the doctor, laughing 
heartily. “If I had the slightest loop-hole through 
which I might get an insight into your meaning, I 
should be much better qualified to judge whether to 
yield or withhold my professional sanction.” 

“ Auntie expects a man of your profession and of 
your astute intellect to divine her meaning without 
explanation,” said Alice, with a mischievous smile. 
“ Isn’t that true, auntie ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, briefly. “Galen should be a 
diviner of mysteries.” 

“ Look out ! ” said the doctor, shaking his finger 
playfully at Alice. “You lie still on your lounge, 
and don’t you be taking the part of my adversaries. 
I’ll endure no more penances for your sake, if that is 
the way you requite me. Now, madam, if it pleases 
you to eliminate your idea, I will give you my sage 
opinion and advice.” 

“ She contemplates taking Alice for a trip to the 
. moon, as she thinks the voyage- would be eminently 
beneficial to that young lady,” put in Uncle Kufus. 
“She has been reading the recently disinterred ‘Moon 
Story,’ and has no doubt that the islands described 


408 


Light Ahead. 


there, with their waving palm-trees and their coral 
reefs, would prove a charming residence for herself 
and her fair ward.” 

“Eeallj, Mr. Horton,” rejoined Mrs. Dunbar, laugh- 
ing, “ you display extraordinary powers of intuition. 
You must have been reading my thoughts. You had 
better practice the science of psychology.” 

“Hot so difficult a thing to accomplish as one might 
suppose,” he answered. “I’ll practice it upon yon 
some time. It would be rare fun to see you unhesi- 
tatingly obeying my behests.” 

“It will be rare fun when you see me in that in- 
teresting state. I warn you, sir, I should prove a 
hopeless case. I always was obstinate from a child, 
and all my powers of resistance would be brought to 
bear against a person whom I should know to be 
trying to subdue my mind to his control. But, doc- 
tor, to be serious, I was about to propose, not a trip 
to the moon, but one to the other side of the deep 
water. I believe the change would be of infinite 
benefit to our little invalid yonder. What do you 
think of my idea % ” 

“ Capital ! ” replied the doctor, heartily. “ How, 
Mr. Horton, if our friend has entertained the chimera 
which you attribute to her, I trust you will give her 
credit for sound sense in its amendment.” 

“By all means. A most sensible and practicable 
thought has emanated from that subtle brain of hers.” 

The projected trip now became a topic of serious 


Light Ahead. 


409 


consideration. Doctor Monroe gave it as his opinion 
that Alice would be able to travel in two or three 
weeks, and, the season being favorable, he gave the 
little widow his cheerful concurrence and support. 

“Well, old lady!” exclaimed Uncle Kufus, address- 
ing his wife, “what do you say to crossing the big 
pond ? I am anxious that Bishop should have the 
advantage of travel and foreign study, and now is 
our chance. Besides, these forlorn ladies ought not 
to go abroad without some of the ‘ lords of cregition,’ 
and this would be a good opportunity to display my 
gallantry.” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! ” burst out Mrs. Dunbar, with more 
impetuosity than elegance. “ I, for my part, have a 
serious disposition to decline your escort, just to show 
you what a woman can do.” 

“ It would afford me inexpressible delight to have 
the conceit taken out of him,” said Aunt Betsey, 
laughing. 

“ O ! Aunt Betsey,” replied Alice, mischievously ; 
“ he is only a fair specimen of the genus. They are 
all inflated with an imaginative sense of their own 
importance.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! doctor, do you hear that ? Inflated with 
an imaginative sense of our own importance, are 
we ! Ah, ha ! my young lady, get up stairs as best 
you can.” 


CHAPTER XXIL 

O N one of the slopes of sunnj France stands an 
ancient chateau^ whose ruins are beautified by 
clambering vines of many years’ growth. Life in 
death, joy in sorrow, hope in despondency, are all 
symbolized by this vigorous climber, whose subsist- 
ence is drawn from the soil which supports this 
home of a once proud and noble race. Generation 
after generation has been born within its stately walls, 
whose only record is, like that of many in the Script- 
ures, that they lived two, three, or fourscore years, 
and — they died. An old-fashioned garden surrounds 
this crumbling pile, in which there is an indigenous 
growth of various homely plants, whose annual res- 
urrection, in conjunction with the thrifty creeper, 
relieves the place from the stamp of death and decay. 

The air is fragrant with the odor of the box- wood 
borders of the beds, some of which are overgrown 
with weeds, while others still preserve their original 
outline. A very wilderness of sweets is here, on 
which bees and humming-birds are feasting, whose 
drowsy, satisfied buzz, together with the subtle per- 
fume in the quiet air, produces a soporific effect upon 
the occupants of the garden. 

Seated in a lovely sheltered nook of this quaint 


Light Ahead. 


411 


and almost deserted spot, is a young girl with dreamy 
eyes and thoughtful air. The large eyes are deep and 
spiritual in their expression. The dark hair is brushed 
carelessly back from a low, broad brow, on which the 
stamp of intellect is unmistakably set. The printed 
page upon her lap receives but little attention. She 
seems to have fallen into one of those reveries which, 
in such an atmosphere, are almost irresistible and very 
delicious. 

A young man, some two years her senior, hes lazily 
stretched upon a mossy bank at her feet, and, having 
cast away his book which, strange to say, is neither 
Shakespeare nor Tennyson, or even our own Long- 
fellow, but a heavy, uninteresting-looking Blackstone, 
rests his eyes earnestly upon his companion’s face. 

‘‘ Miss Alice,” he asked, in a somewhat embarrassed 
manner, “do you remember a dirty, ragged boy, in 
whom, some eight years ago, you were the first to 
take an interest ? ” 

“Yes,” she replied, laughing, “I remember, Tony. 
I may call you Tony once more, may I not?” she 
asked, playfully.” 

“ You may call me any thing you please,” was the 
low reply. “ Any name from your lips would sound 
sweet to me.” 

"Were this a chronicle of love we would rehearse 
the conversation which followed ; but we will be con- 
tent with its closing sentences. 

“ To think,” he continued, in a meditative tone. 


412 


Light Ahead. 


“ of my utter ignorance of the Being who made me, 
and the Saviour who bought me, until I heard it from 
your childish lips ! It is incredible to me that I could 
have lived to the age of twelve years, in the midst of 
Christian people, and never have heard the name of 
Jesus !” 

“ You forget,” answered Alice, “ what a shy little 
boy you were, always hiding away somewhere, and 
hardly ever near the house, you know. I am sure if 
grandma had suspected the truth, or if you had seen 
more of her, you would have frequently heard the 
Saviour’s name, for it was often upon her lips in 
sweet and loving utterauces.” 

“Perhaps so. I am not blaming them ; only it all 
seems so strange to me as I look at it now. Alice, I 
owe every thing I am, or ever hope to be, either in 
this world or the next, to you. I believe God has 
made you my good angel; and even if you should 
spurn me from your feet, I should still look toward 
you as the one bright memory of my boyhood. You 
have always seemed to me as I imagine the shining 
ones must have seemed to Christian — a sort of lumi- 
nous embodiment of the principles of Christianity. 
I shall never lose the impression you made upon my 
childish heart. Every thing upon which your touch 
has ever rested, has been sacred in my eyes from that 
day. I know I am not worthy of you. I do not 
wonder that you turn from me and refuse to listen to 
the foolish words I have uttered. When I remember 


Light Ahead. 


413 


my antecedents, and think what your first feelings on 
encountering me must have been, I am abashed at my 
temerity. You, with your family connections, your 
beauty, and, above all, your glorious talents, may 
aspire to the highest in the land, while I — ” 

“ Tony,” she interrupted, in a gentle tone, while a 
rosy fiush overspread the pure brow, “ I cannot bear 
to hear you talk so. It is not that — not that I look 
upon you with any lack of respect or sisterly affec- 
tion, but you know you have been like a dear brother 
to me, particularly since we have been abroad, and — 
and — Tony, I like to call you Tony because it sounds 
more natural, and recalls so vividly. dear Uncle Ben 
and his noble martyr death. Tony, do not think 
hardly of me. I think I shall never marry. I have 
selected my profession, and mean to devote my life 
to it. Let all this be forgotten, and let us be brother 
and sister still.” 

Looking with misty eyes through the swaying 
branches of the stately tree which canopied their 
heads, Tony, or Bishop, as we must call him in the 
presence of his father, who is approaching, ex- 
claimed, 

“Hallo! who comes here? Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. 
Dunbar, my mother and father ; and, Alice, who is 
that stranger with them ? ” 

“ I can scarcely see at this distance,” she answered, 
carelessly. “ Some one from the hotel, probably, 
who has strayed out this way.” 


414 


Light Ahead. 


A few moments settled the question. The sounds 
of voices could be easily discerned before the face of 
the stranger became visible under his broad straw 
hat. 

“ Ah, ha ! ” shouted Uncle Eufus, “ I thought we 
should find the runaways here. This is a favorite 
trysting-place. Alice, come here and greet an old 
friend.” 

I^ay, but rather let an old friend greet her,” was 
the reply, in Dr. Monroe’s familiar tones, as he seized 
both her hands, which he immediately released, en- 
folding her in an embrace like a bear. 

“ Why, Dr. Monroe ! ” she exclaimed, “ did this 
soft summer air waft you here unconsciously, or 
did you purposely conceal your intention from us 
in order to suddenly rush upon us in this unauthor- 
ized fashion?” 

“Well, Miss Hamilton,” he answered, with well- 
feigned pique, “ what does this imply ? Dissatisfac- 
tion at my arrival, or at an inopportune disturbance 
of an interesting tete-a-tete ? ” 

“Hot a particle of either,” she replied, heartily ; 
“ you know you are always welcome ; but when did 
you come ? ” 

“Just arrived, like Paddy in the streets of Hew 
York. ‘ Me bit o’ baggage an’ mesilf, sthrangers in- 
tirely,’ as he would say. Only, my fair friend ! ” he 
exclaimed, as he looked earnestly at the rounded 
form and the soft check, on whose delicate surface 


Light Ahead. 


415 


was painted a faint tinge of color, “yon have not 
spent two years abroad for nothing.” 

“ IN^o, indeed,” she answered, brightly. I am well. 
Dr. Monroe, perfectly well. I have no need of your 
professional services, sir, so please don’t reckon me 
on the invalid list ; I never was so far from it in my 
life.” 

“Well, yon have enjoyed two years of elegant 
leisure, absolutely nothing to do. Do you indorse 
the Italian proverb, ‘ Dolce far niente ? ’ ” 

“ By no means,” was her eager reply. “ I am ut- 
terly tired of this inane, aimless sort of existence. I 
want to get home and settle down to some definite 
plan. I want some object, doctor — something to 
arouse my ambition and awaken my energy, if I 
have any.” 

“ I was not aware. Miss Hamilton, that that quality 
of the human mind needed to be aroused in your 
aspiring breast. I thought it was already soaring on 
eagle’s wings clear up to the highest zenith. Indeed, 
you surprise me greatly.” 

“ You should not be surprised, and will not be after 
a few days of observation of my indolent habits. I 
am most wofully lazy, and all these good people, in- 
stead of urging and assisting me to overcome it, have 
been helping me indulge my propensity.” 

“ Shocking,” he answered, gravely. “ I should 
think you would be troubled with qualms of con- 
science for the remainder of your days.” 


416 


Light Ahead. 


Alice replied only by a burst of merry laughter, 
which became contagious, after which Mrs. Hamilton 
asked, 

“ Why did you not come sooner ? Alice is so anx- 
ious to get home, and her health is so thoroughly re- 
established, that we have decided to go in the early 
autumn.” 

“ That will agree precisely with my arrangements,” 
he answered, carelessly. “ My time is limited. I 
cannot ajfford to play more than three months at a 
time. It is quite evident,” he continued, turning to- 
ward Alice, as he took up the discarded Blackstone, 
“ that your indolence has not seriously affected any 
one but yourself. Our embryo counselor, at least, 
seems to have been improving his time, if this vol- 
ume speaks truth.” 

The gloom which had overspread Bishop’s face 
relaxed into a grave smile, as he answered, 

“ I am afraid I have not made as good a use of my 
time as I might have done, doctor. I begin to think 
much of it has run to waste. This delicious, dreamy 
atmosphere is not a powerful incentive to vigorous 
study.” 

Bishop had arisen from his recumbent posture, and 
sitting on the bank upon which he was reclining 
when we first invaded the demesne which seemed 
sacred to privacy or confidence, he formed a pleasing 
addition to a scene which would have presented a fine 
study for an artist. The ungainly form of his child- 


Light Ahead. 


41 T 


hood had assumed more symmetry of outline and 
proportion, the greenish gray eyes had deepened and 
mellowed, the carroty hair had become darker and 
more tractable, while the dormant intellect had been 
aroused, and was spreading its glow over the once 
stolid countenance. 

On their return they found letters awaiting them 
which made it important that Mr. Horton should be 
in Boston by the first of November, so their prepa- 
rations were somewhat expedited. 

The afternoon preceding their departure found 
Alice, sketch-book in hand, seated upon the sheltered 
seat she had so often occupied, engaged in taking a 
last' drawing of the old ruin from a different point of 
view. While bending over her book, absorbed in her 
task, a hand was laid lightly on her shoulder, and a 
familiar voice said, 

‘‘ I thought, indeed I was quite sure, I should find 
you here. This is a favorite spot, is it not, Alice 1 ” 

Turning quickly around she encountered Dr. Mon- 
roe’s eyes fixed upon her face with an expression of 
unwonted seriousness in their dark orbs. 

Yes,” she replied, “ I have dreamed away very 
many hours in delicious reverie in this seat. It is so 
retired and solitary that I have formed quite an at- 
tachment to it.” 

‘‘ Does it make you sad to leave it 1 ” 

Somewhat so,” she answered, with deliberate 
thoughtfulness ; “ not exactly sad either, but a little 
27 


418 


Light Ahead. 


regretful. It is a strange mingling of feelings. I 
suppose I am a little sorry that I shall never see 
this lovely spot after to-day, and yet I am very happy 
in the thought of going home again.” 

“There are many pleasant associations connected 
with yonder venerable pile and this old garden,” he 
soliloquized, “ many things which will be recalled in 
after, years with infinite satisfaction, are there not, 
Alice?” 

Alice’s eyes fell beneath his keen, scrutinizing gaze, 
and she answered, while a burning fiush suffused her 
face as she recognized his covert meaning, 

“Is it not your experience that there are always' 
more or less pleasant memories connected with almost 
all the places you have visited, particularly those in 
which you have spent any considerable time ? Let 
us go down yonder,” she continued, hurriedly. 
“ See ! they are gathering the vintage, and I must 
have one more indulgence in grapes before we leave 
‘ La belle France.’ 

“ ‘ Come, thou, with me to the vineyards nigh. 

And we’ll pluck the grapes of the richest dye,’ ” 

she caroled lightly, as her companion rose to obey 
her behest. 

They walked leisurely along, almost in silence, 
unjcil they reached the vineyard. The luscious pur- 
pl^ clusters were hanging in rich profusion from the 
heavily laden vines. Vintagers of both sexes were 


Light Ahead. 


410 


bnsilj employed in gathering the ruby wealth, which 
was destined, by its sale, to enrich its ow^r. 

Pointing to one of the topmost clusters, whose 
cheeks were glowing beneath the kiss of the soft 
south breeze, Alice exclaimed, 

“What a royal feast yonder beauty would make 
were it only attainable ! ” 

“ Attainable ! ” replied the doctor, emphatically. 
“ I hope you don’t call that unattainable.” 

“ I suppose I was judging from my own limited 
ability,” she answered, humbly. “ I have no doubt 
it might be captured by some one who possesses 
greater skill, more strength, and a nobler stature 
than I.” 

“ Yes,” he answered, laughing, the latter qualifica- 
tion is quite an important one imthis case. “ If I were 
as spry at acrobatic feats as I once was before this 
inconvenient obesity fastened itself upon me, I would 
show you that yonder magnificent cluster is one of 
the things by no means unattainable.” 

Having made several unsuccessful efforts, he was 
glad to avail himself of the services of a lad, standing 
near, whom he bade ascend a ladder and secure the 
coveted prize. After obtaining an abundant supply 
of the tempting luxury, he prepared to depart with 
his fragrant burden. 

“How let us go back to our seat and enjoy our 
feast,” said Alice, gleefully. 

“ Are grapes the sole object of your thought and 


420 Light Ahead. 

ambition at the present moment?” he asked, re- 
proachfully. 

“Yes,” was the smiling reply; “they occupy my 
entire mind just now, doctor.” 

“ Alice,” he asked, abruptly, “ for what purpose do 
you imagine I came here ? ” 

“For what purpose do other travelers come?” she 
inquired, innocently. 

“ Heaven knows ! What would you say ? ” 

“Some in quest of health, some on business, and 
some merely for the gratification of their fancy. 
How, as your appearance doesn’t indicate a lack of 
earth’s greatest and best boon, and your business lies 
far ‘ o’er the Atlantic wave,’ the inference is, that you 
acted under the infiuence of your own ‘sweet will,’ 
or, in other words, came because you wanted to.” 

“We seem to have exchanged characters,” he an- 
swered, gravely. “You are in a jesting mood — I am 
not. I am in earnest. It was for your sake and 
yours only. I could not be satisfied with the re- 
ports of others. I wanted to drink jn the light of 
health which they wrote me sparkled in your eye, to 
see the color they said glowed upon your cheeks, to 
hear the full, healthy tones, they declared vibrated 
in your voice. . It is true, Alice, I have seen these 
things with my own eyes ; but I have also seen some- 
thing which has given me infinitely less satisfac- 
tion. I have seen that you are not the same Alice 
who used to sit ‘ in maiden meditation, fancy free.’ 


Light Ahead. 


421 


You are my little Alice no longer. There is another 
name which blends with your thoughts — another 
voice that is sweeter music to your ears. I^ay, do 
not attempt to interrupt me,” he continued, as she 
opened her lips to speak. “ You cannot deceive me. 
That young man has stolen your heart, imperceptibly 
it may be, but unmistakably. He is your devoted 
admirer; and, child, child, you reciprocate his feel- 
ings. O ! Alice darling, I could not expect to wear 
so fair a flower on my oM heart, but I confess my 
selfishness. I cannot bear to see it worn by another.” 

Alice was much affected by his earnestness, and 
her eyes filled with tears as she answered, impressively, 

“Dr. Monroe, you are mistaken; Bishop and I 
have, necessarily, been much together, and formed a 
sort of attachment, which, I solemnly assure you, is, 
on my part, nothing more than a friendly, or at most 
a sisterly, feeling, born of an almost constant associa- 
tion and kindred hopes.” 

“ ‘ Constant association ! ’ ‘ kindred hopes ! ’ Alice, 
it is just these things which I fear. Pity may be 
‘ akin to love,’ but, alas ! pity is not the only feeling 
which inspires the noblest passion of the human soul. 
Congeniality of feeling, similarity of taste and pur- 
pose, are dangerous elements when they exist in the 
bosoms of two persons of opposite sexes when they 
are brought into close and intimate relationship. It 
was this I feared, and my fears are realized.” 

Dr. Monroe was too noble in mind and heart to 


422 


Light Ahead. 


remind Alice of the inferior pedigree of her youth- 
ful suitor, or in any way to detract from his merits, 
and she admired his spirit and pitied his evident un- 
happiness, while she searched the inner recesses of 
her heart for words of cheer and comfort. She was 
too truthful to deny Bishop’s love for her, or to im- 
ply that she was unconscious of its existence. Look- 
ing reproachfully, she asked, 

“ Have I not always been truthful to you ? ” 

“ The very soul of truth and honor,” was the reply. 
“ Yery well! Then will you not believe me when 
I tell you again that you are utterly mistaken ? ” 

“J believe you. It would be an insult to doubt 
your word ; but, Alice, my dear child, take care that 
you be not deceived.” 

“I am not deceived,” she answered, briefly. ‘‘I 
know my own heart.” 

“Well,” he replied, “I believe you, but I suppose 
I am no better ofl, only this selfish old heart keeps 
whispering, ‘Hever mind, if she can’t be yours, she 
don’t belong to any one else, just yet, at any rate.” 

“You have always been my friend from my ear- 
liest childhood,” answered Alice, laying her hand 
affectionately upon his; “a friend whom I have 
reverenced and trusted more than I can tell you. 
But as for any warmer feeling, I assure you, it is 
an utter foreigner to my breast. I shall not marry, 
at least for many years. I have laid out a work 
for myself which, with God’s help, I mean to 


Light Ahead. 


423 


perform. I am going to see if I cannot benefit my 
kind. There are hundreds and thousands of women 
who are cast upon the world witli no means of 
support — women who have been reared in luxury 
and are unqualified to earn even a scanty mainte- 
nance. Ignorant of almost every thing useful; they 
cannot teach, they cannot sew, there is literally noth- 
ing they can do, and they become helpless burdens 
upon those who are often unable, and more often 
unwilling, to provide for them. I am going to try 
what can be done for them. I do not know in what 
way. My ideas are crude, and my plans unformed, 
but on the main point I am decided, and, having put 
my hand to the plow, I shall not look back. The 
care of my mother will be the first and dearest 
thought of my heart. To minister to her and make 
her happy will be a pleasant task ; but I have not 
been absolutely idle, as you imagine, even in this 
seductive place, where every thing conduces to ease 
and indolence. I have, at odd times, without tax- 
ing myself very heavily, completed a book which is 
now in New York, and which I expect to find in 
the market on my return. The proceeds of this, 
aside from such an amount as will be required by 
the strictest economy, I intend to devote to the object 
of which I have spoken to you. I have no doubt 
you think me Quixotic, and perhaps I am. Every 
thing is in such an immature state, but I hope my 
plan will develop into a source of actual, tangible 


424 


Light Ahead. 


good to very many helpless woman. Come,” she 
said, gently, as the lengthening shadows warned them 
of the hour, “ it must be almost tea-time.” 

Slowly she arose, and with a sad smile prepared to 
depart. Gathering up parasol and sketch-book, her 
companion followed, each casting a regretful look at 
the venerable relic of departed greatness. 

At the tea-table Mr. Horton rallied Bishop upon 
his abstraction, but the pained look in the young 
man’s face warned him to desist. 

The party were gathered in the open air, enjoying 
their last evening in that delightful climate, when 
Bishop approached Alice, saying, in a low tone, 

“Will you take one more stroll with me before we 
part?” 

Alice hesitated a moment, when he said, 

“ Eemember, it is the last.” 

Passing to her room in order to get her hat, she 
encountered Mrs. Dunbar. 

“ Going out ? ” she asked, with an arch smile. 

“Yes,” answered Alice ; “Bishop and I are going 
to the old ruin for the last time.” 

“ Take care, Alice” she said, raising her finger with 
a warning gesture ; “ these moonlight promenades 
are dangerous.” 

“ I am fortified, auntie,” she replied, gently ; and 
with a firm step she rejoined Bishop, who was im- 
patiently awaiting her return. With a common, but 
unexpressed, wish they turned their way toward the 


Light Ahead. 


425 


scene of the afternoon’s conversation, which was still 
fresh in Alice’s mind. A sadness, partly the effect 
of circumstances, and partly engendered by the quiet, 
spiritual beauty of the place, brooded over each. 

A broad, full moon shed its silver light over the 
weird, romantic-looking pile. As constellation after 
constellation became visible in the illimitable arch 
above, the whole heavens seemed aglow. Grotesque 
shadows were cast by the nodding branches which 
had loosened themselves from the crumbling walls, 
while in the full flood of silver light “the young 
leaves were dancing in breezy mirth.” 

“ Shall we ever sit in this way again, think you ? ” 
asked Bishop, thoughtfully. 

“[N’ot in this place,” she replied, trying to speak 
lightly. 

“ I should not care,” he answered, bitterly, “ wheth- 
er it were in this place or some other, if I were only 
sure of being with you. But, alas ! we are to be sep- 
arated. ‘ It may be for years, and it may be forever.’ 
To think of my parting from you without having 
gained the promise I sought ! I would have served 
like Jacob for his beloved Kachel, but my years of 
study will be drudgery to me now.” 

“ Why will you persist in making yourself miser- 
able?” she asked, in persuasive tones. “You and I 
are going to be far too busy people to think of 
such things. Bishop. We have each a work to do, 
let us do it with our might, not dreaming away our 


426 


Light Ahead. 


time in idle love passages, but remembering that ^ the 
night cometh when no man can work.’ If you are 
going to rise to any eminence in your profession, you 
must banish all these things from your mind, and 
apply yourself with a will to years of patient study 
and unremitting effort. Take Longfellow’s noble 
poem for your watch-word. Keep in mind his stir- 
ring words : 

‘Act — act in the living present ! 

Heart within, and God o’erhead.’ 

I am not preaching to you that which I do not intend 
to practice myself. Let us each do our best, and when 
we clasp hands after a separation of two or three years, 
let us see how much each has accomplished for him- 
self, the world, and God.” 



CHAPTER XXIIL 

F ollowing the line of Broadway as far as 
Thirty-eighth Street, we overtake a lady, young, 
and of attractive appearance. The slight form is 
carried with dainty grace. The head is erect, as 
though its owner were in the conscious possession of 
power. The dark eyes emit gleams of intelligence, 
while the smile upon the finely-curved lips betokens 
the companionship of pleasant thoughts. 

Turning the corner, she passed down half a square 
and lightly ascended the steps of a pleasant-looking 
house, evidently the abode of culture and refinement. 

“ Is my sister at home ? ” she asked of the trim 
servant-maid who opened the door. 

“Yes, Miss Alice,’’ was the respectful reply. 
“ Y ou will find her up stairs.” 

Hastily running up the first flight, she entered the 
open door of the front chamber, exclaiming, 

“ Here I am, Mabel ; come to inflict my presence 
upon you for the whole long day ! Do you imagine 
you will survive it ? How now. Master Charlie,” she 
said, catching up the smiling infant and tossing him, 
“ Are you glad to see Aunt Alice ? ” 

The child cooed his welcome, while his mother said. 


428 


Light Ahead. 


“ O, Alice dear ! I am so glad to see you. ISTow 
take oJff your hat, and let us have a good, long talk.” 

“ Yes,” answered Alice, “ after I have had my 
romp with this young gentleman. There, you lump 
of infantile perfection,” she said, playfully tossing 
him into her sister’s lap. 

‘‘ How happy you look ! ” exclaimed Mabel, as 
Alice laid off her hat and gave the dark hair a care- 
less push from the broad white brow. 

“ Do I? ” she asked, joyously. “Well, I am very 
happy. I believe my glasses are couleur de rose this 
morning, every thing looks so bright. You are 
always so unselfish in your interest, Mabel dear, that 
I am going to open my budget, and tell you all that 
pleases me — 

“ Shall I take Master Charlie out now, ma’am ? ” 
asked the nurse as she entered, equipped for a walk. 

“Yes, Mary, take him out, and give him a good 
airing,” was the smiling reply. 

“Now, Alice darling,” she continued, as they 
watched the departure of the tasteful little carriage, 
“ I am not half so unselfish as you think. My interest 
in your affairs is unbounded — but I am so proud of 
your great success. And don’t you see, dearest, that 
it comes back upon me with its reflective glory, as the 
sister of such a brilliant young authoress ? Robert 
says I am a great deal more proud of you than I 
would be if it were myself.” 

“ Robert is about right,” replied Alice, in husky 


Light Ahead. 


429 


tones. “You have always been my dear, good, faith- 
ful sister, loving me a great deal more than I deserve. 
But I want to tell you my good news. You recol- 
lect that Mrs. Olcott called upon me, more than a 
year ago, to ask assistance for a lady who had been 
reduced to the verge of penury by one of those in- 
scrutable providences of which we know something, 
Mabel, by sad experience. You remember that she 
proposed opening a fancy store, which I very gladly 
assisted her to do. She has succeeded beyond her 
expectations, and now wishes to refund a part of the 
money which she would accept only as a loan. I 
called upon her yesterday afternoon and refused to 
receive the amount which she handed me, but she 
was so evidently hurt by my rejection of her offer, 
that I dared not press it further. I wish you could 
see her, Mabel ; she is a lady by birth and education, 
and I am so thankful to have had it in my power to 
assist her in this way, and so glad for her that she is 
able to gratify her honorable independence of feeling, 
and the sum which she has been enabled to repay 
shall be kept, as a reserved fund, to be appropriated 
to the relief of another similar case.” 

Alice paused a moment, when Mabel replied, 

“Alice dearest, you are doing a noble work. I 
do not wonder you are happy. Surely the law of 
compensation is nicely carried out, and the liberal 
soul is made fat.” 

“ Ah I but I have not told you all my sources of 


430 


Light Ahead. 


pleasure yet, Mabel. This Mrs. Denver has a son 
who is of sufficient age to enter upon some line of 
business. I have been to see Dr. Parker this morn- 
ing to induce him to use his influence to obtain a 
position for him. He assures me that he will exert 
himself to the utmost; and you know what that 
means. Item number two : I had a note from my 
publisher this morning, saying that ‘Bonnie Belle’ 
will be out in about two weeks, so that my hopes 
of doing that which my heart prompts brighten 
visibly.” 

“ Your heart prompts you to do more than you are 
able, I fear. Be careful ; do not lay too heavy a bur- 
den upon those slender shoulders.” 

“Never fear,” she answered, gayly. “O, Mabel! 
do you know I was very much surprised last evening 
by a call from an old friend. Whom do you sup- 
pose I mean ? Search all the crannies of your mem- 
oiy to bring to light the one in question.” 

“ Your friends are so numerous that it would be a 
hopeless task to single out one individual,” replied 
Mabel, smiling. 

“ Perhaps it would be imposing too much upon 
you. Well, I will hasten to relieve your curiosity. 
I was sitting in my own room in a particularly quiet, 
thoughtful mood, when James entered and handed 
me a bit of pasteboard, on which was inscribed 
‘ A. Bishop Hoeton.’ ” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed Mabel. “That must have 


Light Ahead. 


431 


been a surprise. He has been here before, though, 
since his return from abroad, hasn’t he ? ” 

“ O yes ! twice before. You know he was admit- 
ted to the bar only three months ago— almost im- 
mediately after his return, and he has already had 
several cases, which, I think, is doing pretty well.” 

“ Yes, I should say so, too. 1 have no doubt he 
will succeed admirably. You know he has the ad- 
vantage of Mr. Horton’s position and influence, a 
prestige as the jprotege of a wealthy and popular 
man. Alice,” she continued, as she bent her laugh- 
ing eyes upon her sister’s face, “do you know that I 
wove quite a romance about you and that young 
man? I was afraid you might develop le grande 
jpassion between you.” 

“ Afraid, Mabel ? ” 

“Yes, afraid,” she answered, decidedly. “I have 
glowing visions for my darling Alice.” 

“ Ah, indeed ? And does he not meet your ap- 
probation, most captious critic ? ” 

“ Hardly. Think of what he was ten years ago.” 

“Well, what of that? Think of what he may be 
ten years hence.” 

“ O, but I have an aspiring ambition for my 
talented sister. He who wears her upon his heart 
must be unexceptionable in every respect.” 

“ A myth, Mabel ; a flgment of your own imagina- 
tion.” 

“ Ho, a genuine flesh-and-blood being. You have 


432 


Light Ahead. 


spirituality enoiigli for both ; but he must be of good 
birth, and occupy an honorable position.” 

“ Perhaps a senator would suit you, or, may be, the 
President of the United States. O you ridiculous 
Mabel ! And how do you know but Bishop may be 
senator or governor ! Would that suit you to be the 
sister of a governor’s lady ? Or he may even reach 
the White House. In this land of equal rights his 
chance may be as good as that of any other.” 

Mrs. Chandler,” said the cook, putting her head 
in at the door, “ there’s a poor woman down stairs, 
ma’am, as acts shtrange-like. I think its sick she 
he’s. Will yez cum down and see her, ma’am ? ” 

“ Yes, Barbara ; I will come immediately.” 

Descending to the kitchen, Mrs. Chandler found 
a woman whom, at first sight, she thought to be in- 
toxicated, but a closer observation convinced her that 
the poor creature was the victim of disease and want. 
The whole face wore a wan, gaunt appearance, the 
sunken eyes had a dull, lack-luster look, while an 
almost ashy paleness was settling around the mouth, 
whose expression was that of utter hopelessness. 

“ Are you ill ? ” asked Mrs. Chandler, gently. 

111 1 ” she exclaimed, in hollow, almost sepulchral 
tones. “ My God 1 I am starving, famishing for food. 
I have tasted nothing for three days.” 

“ Poor woman ! ” was the compassionate answer. 
‘‘ You shall have all that you require to make you 
comfortable, and then I will listen to as much of 


Light Ahead. 


433 


your story as you feel disposed to relate. Barbara,” 
sbe continued, “ prepare some hot coffee immediately, 
and something warm and nice to eat.” 

“ Alice,” she called, from the foot of the stairs, 
“ come down here, please.” 

The woman gave a perceptible start as that name 
fell upon her ear, and cast furtive glances toward 
the door as the rustling of garments was heard ap- 
proaching. 

Alice entered, and after allowing her time to speak 
a few kind words to the woman, Mrs. Chandler 
said, 

“After you have finished your meal, if you will 
come into the dining-room, we will see what can be 
done for you.” 

“ Alice,” she exclaimed, after the twain had entered 
the adjoining room and closed the door, “ did you see 
that woman’s eyes follow you? She watched your 
slightest movement.” 

“ Yes,” was the reply, and it seems to me there is 
something familiar in her countenance, yet I cannot 
recall where I ever met her. Probably she is very 
much changed by hardship, so that recognition would 
be very difficult, or she may resemble some person 
whom I have seen and forgotten.” 

“ ITo. I am positive she knows you. Whom — ” 

The last sentence was interrupted as the door 
opened and the object of their conjectures entered, 
marshaled by Barbara, whose huge, brawny propor- 
28 


434 


Light Ahead. 


tions presented a striking contrast to the emaciated 
figure which followed. Around the limp form hung, 
in loose, untidy folds, the drapery, which had origi- 
nally been of expensive material, but was now faded 
and worn. The feet were incased in shoes which 
had evidently seen better days, while the head was 
crowned by a hat corresponding in color and material 
to the dress, showing that its selection had been made 
with some regard to taste. 

Take this seat,” said Alice, kindly, as she rose 
from the most comfortable chair in the room ; “ you 
look as though you needed a soft seat and kind treat- 
ment. After you have rested awhile, perhaps, you 
will tell us in what way we can assist you. I assure 
you, both my sister and myself will do all that lies in 
our power.” 

‘‘ I believe you,” was the reply, given in a weary, 
dejected tone. “ You are very kind. I wonder if 
you would believe me if I should tell you that five 
years ago I was at home in a house as elegant in all 
its appointments as your own not a half-dozen squares 
from this very spot. I was reared in the midst of 
luxury, and led to expect it all my life. I was taught 
to look with contempt upon those whose surroundings 
vrere less sumptuous than my own. Well, five years 
ago my father failed utterly, entirely. Just as I was 
about to enter society — to flutter there like a gaudy 
butterly, and finally make a brilliant marriage — the 
edifice that I had been so long rearing tottered, and. 


Light Ahead. 


435 


with a crash, fell to the ground. Then it was that I 
began to regret the faults of my early education.” 

Alice watched her closely, and her mind traveled 
back to locate, if possible, this person, who, she was 
morally certain, had somewhere crossed her path. 
Instantly a flash of recognition passed over her face, 
when the stranger put out her hand, saying, 

“ Do you not know me. Miss Hamilton ? I am — 

“ Lou Wentworth ! ” exclaimed Alice, seizing her 
hand. “ O how sorry I am to see you in such a con- 
dition ! But tell me more, Lou. Tell me aU. Ke- 
member you are talking to friends now.” 

“ Friends, Alice ? Is it possible you can be my 
friend ? Ah, Alice, my cup of misery is full, and I 
am bitterly but justly punished for my treatment of 
you. It cannot be that you will treat me kindly. 
How is your time to be revenged. I am in your 
power.” 

“ Bevenged ! Ah, Lou, have you forgotten who 
has said, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay?’ 
Besides, I have nothing for which to be revenged. 
It was a childish error which, I feel sure, your 
natural good sense would have taught you to over- 
come.” 

“Yes,” she answered, piteously, “I was educated 
to it, Alice. I was taught to think luxury my vital 
breath, and that those who could not enjoy it were 
immeasurably inferior to myself, and to be treated 
accordingly. O the wretched training that ignorant, 


436 


Light Ahead. 


purse-prond parents give their children ! It ought to 
be scouted as a most reprehensible source of heart- 
blackening, soul- destroying tendencies.” 

Yes,” answered Alice, “ it is a prolific cause of 
untold harm, not only to the present generation, but 
to those also which are to follow. But tell me of 
your father and mother.” 

“Yes, I will tell you the remainder of my sad 
story, and you will then see that I am drinking the 
dregs of the bitterest cup that often falls to a human 
lot. My mother had not sufficient strength of mind 
to bear her reverses and her terrible disappointment 
at my changed future. She lost all heart and inter- 
est, and became peevish and irritable, and at length 
sunk into the grave, broken-hearted. But, Alice, 
when I think of my father, then it is that my heart 
seems bursting. He w^as kind and good, O, so good 
to me ; but the old story was true in his case. He 
tasted the fiery cup, and rum was his murderer. Of 
course, after his failure, we were obliged to leave our 
elegant home, and go down, down, from one poor 
tenement house to another still poorer, until finally 
we could not pay for lodgings in even the poorest. 
I tried to get sewing, but I could not earn sufficient 
to supply our wants, for I am not an expert needle- 
woman, never having been taught to sew. Then, I 
went out washing, but these hands were not inured to 
hard work, and I soon rubbed the skin off, so that I 
was obliged to have them bound up for days. My 


Light Ahead. 


437 


father would frequently be gone all night — some- 
times two or three nights — and then came home in 
a drunken frenzy, and strike me because I had noth- 
ing for him to eat. O, Alice, my father, who used 
to pet me and treat me so tenderly ! Three months 
ago he died, and I have supported myself since as 
best I could. Many a day have I passed witliout a 
morsel of food, and this morning, famishing and des- 
perate, I came to your door.” 

Here she burst into a passion of tears which so 
exhausted her that she sunk nearly fainting. Mabel 
rose quietly and left the room, presently returning 
with a restorative, which the poor sufferer drank with 
feverish eagerness. After a time she rallied, and soon 
gathering her faded garments about her, she said, 

“How you have heard my wretched tale of woe; 
you have fed and comforted me, and I will relieve 
you of my miserable presence.” 

“ Indeed, you will do no such thing,” replied Alice, 
warmly. “ Remember you told me you were in my 
power. How I am going to have my own way.” 

“ Come up stairs,” said Mabel, gently, “ and after 
luncheon I will go and bring Dr. Monroe to see you. 
Together we will nurse you up in a few days, so that 
you will scarcely recognize yourself.” 

“You are more than kind,” she answered, feebly. 
“ I cannot understand it, any more than I can think 
of trespassing upon you so much.” 

“Hot a word,” said Alice, playfully, laying her 


438 


Light Ahead. 


Land over her mouth. Do you feel equal to mount- 
ing two flights of stairs, or shall — ” 

What Alice proposed to do in the event of Lou’s 
strength proving inadequate to the ascent was never 
revealed, for the latter interrupted her, by saying, 
eagerly, 

‘‘0,yes! Kind words are a very powerful tonic, 
Alice.” 

The entrance of the nurse with Master Charlie at 
this time diverted the stream of conversation until 
after luncheon. 

“ Mabel, you had better postpone your visit to see 
Dr. Monroe. I have a plan in my head which I will 
unfold on my return. Kow, Lou, I am going to 
leave you awhile,” said Alice. “Wait patiently for 
me, and see if I cannot bring a smile to your lip and 
a light to your eye.” 

Hastening home, she imparted to her mother and 
Mrs. Dunbar the startling event of the morning, 
asking permission to bring Lou there, and pledging 
herseK to be responsible for any additional expense 
and care which might be incurred by the arrange- 
ment. 

“ Thank you, auntie, dear,” she said. “ You are 
so kind to gratify all my whims.” 

“ Whims, Alice ! Who could refuse you any 
thing ? I am only afraid that you are shouldering a 
great responsibility.” 

“ O no, auntie ! The poor of this world are left 


Light Ahead. 439 

us as a legacy, and, you know, we always look out 
for that.” 

Having gained her point, she prepared a full street 
suit which, after deftly and skillfully packing it in 
a satchel, she easily induced the waiter to carry to 
MabeFs house, for Lou must be suitably arrayed, and 
the servants must not see her in her present forlorn 
condition, lest some future act of disrespect might 
wound her feelings. 

“How,” she said, gleefully, as she opened the 
satchel, and shook out the folds of a new dress in 
which she had not yet appeared ; “ you and I are not 
so dissimilar in form, Lou, but that we can easily 
wear each other’s dresses at an emergency. Come, 
doff these garments which Mabel’s ingenuity will 
enable her to dispose of, and don this, which, I have 
no doubt, will be exceedingly becoming.” 

The exchange was soon made, and Alice conducted 
the transformed girl to her own luxurious home. Both 
Mrs. Hamilton and Mrs. Dunbar gave her a most 
cordial greeting, and great care was taken that no 
taint of coolness or suspicion should recall to mind 
the now bitterly regretted past. 

“Your wardrobe shall be attended to immediately, 
dear,” said Alice, after having conducted her to a 
pleasant and tasteful chamber, adjoining the one oc- 
cupied by her mother and herself. “How, I am 
going to see Dr. Monroe, and will leave you to rest 
until I bring him to see you.” 


Light Ahead. 


UO 

“ ]N’o, Alice, I protest against your exerting your- 
self any more to-day. I do not need the professional 
services of your friend. I think you have adminis- 
tered the true tonic.” 

“ Then, you are my patient, and, as your physician, 
I prescribe rest and quiet for you ; ” and, tossing a 
kiss from the tips of her gloved fingers, she disap- 
peared. 

Doctor Monroe gave it as his opinion that, as there 
was no organic disease about Lou, rest and good 
generous food would restore her to perfect health, a 
prediction which in a few days gave promise of a 
speedy verification. 

“Alice,” she said, one morning, as the two were 
seated together in easy conversation, “ I have been 
thinking what I can do to render myself less burden- 
some to you. You know my education has been ex- 
ceedingly superficial ; I was taught a smattering of 
this, that, and the other fashionable accomplishment ; 
but I am not mistress of any one, and so, of course, am 
not competent to instruct others, while, so far as any 
thing useful is concerned, I am in utter ignorance.” 

“ IN’ow, Lou,” was the smiling reply, “ if you love 
me, do not talk of being a burden. Believe it or not, 
as you please, these trials have been a blessing to you. 
They have developed your character and brought to 
view traits which I have learned to love, so that 
what was at first done from a sense of Christian duty 
is now done from a feeling of true affection. Say no 


Light Ahead. 


441 


more about it, please, but continue to be that which 
you now are, my gentle, sympathizing friend. Do 
you know, Lou, you have been of great service to me 
in my work? You have unconsciously furnislied me 
many capital ideas, and to pay you for them I am 
going to procure some light needle-work which you 
can do at your leisure, and mamma, who knows almost 
every thing, will hold herseK in readiness to assist 
when ever you may require her aid.” 

“ Alice,” she exclaimed, with a quivering lip, “ you 
are the noblest woman I ever saw. If this is the way 
you requite your injuries, God help and forgive me, 
who so sadly wounded your tender heart. You are 
‘ heaping coals of fire on my head.’ ” 

“ Lou, let us make a solemn compact. This matter 
is never to be mentioned between us again. Let it 
lie deeply buried beneath the ashes of a dead past, 
never to rise again. I sliould be a most unworthy 
disciple of Him whose religion is the law of love and 
kindness, did I remember and resent a wrong done 
me in my childish days.” 

“Well, Alice,” interrupted Mabel, entering the 
room, “so you are going to Boston to-morrow! A 
sudden move, is it not ? ” 

“Yes, rather; but Fan’s marriage is fixed for 
Thursday, and as I am to be first brides-maid, it is 
necessary for me to be on hand in time.” 

“So she is going to marry the Keverend James, 
after all, is she ? ” 


442 


Light Ahead. 


“Yes,” replied Alice, in a musing tone. “How 
very strange it all seems. To tliink that Maud 
should have married a farmer, and settle down there ; 
but stranger still that quiet, refined Hellie could have 
fancied that boisterous, rollicking Tom Seaton ; and, 
strangest of all, that madcap Fan could consent to 
become the wife of a grave, staid clergyman, like 
the Keverend James Horton.” 

“ Don’t you think Uncle Hufus has some hand in 
making the match ? ” asked Mabel, archly. 

“Yes, this nephew is the apple of his eye, while 
Fan is his favorite among all the girls. He likes a 
woman with a sharp tongue, one who can return his 
sallies with interest ; and Fan’s words sometimes 
fiash like a bright sword whipped from its scabbard.” 

“Well,” replied Mabel, smiling, “Fan is to go to 
the altar with a clergyman, and you will probably 
follow with A. Bishop^'' 

It will be remembered that Lou and Bishop were 
cousins ; but the former, in her five years of bereave- 
ment and sorrow, had heard but little of the changed 
prospects of the boy whom she had so much despised, 
and who had repaid her with a bitter hatred. Alice 
had been, this very morning, giving her a detailed 
account of his adoption and subsequent change of 
name. How Mabel’s playful remark gave her food 
for a new idea, and furnished the materials for a 
glowing romance, of which she was not slow to make 
the best possible use. » 


Light Ahead. 


443 


We do not say that Mabel’s words bear any rela- 
tionship to sober truth, or that they will be realized 
in the future. We simply accord to Alice that which 
every woman claims as her right — the privilege of 
changing her mind. She is still busy at her work, 
still interested, still weaving many a bright tissue of 
fancy. A thought is a brain-child, and her brain has, 
many times, brought forth such thoughts as have been 
meat to the hungry and drink to the thirsty soul. 
She is not altogether an ideal character. She is the 
type of very many noble, Christian women, who are 
to be found all over the land ; women who are deeply 
imbued with the spirit of Christ, and are working for 
the Master and for humanity. She has found, not 
the philosopher's stone, not an inexliaustible mine of 
wealth, but the true spiritual alembic into which she 
pours the cares and sorrows of life, and they become 
transmuted into the pure gold of heavenly joy. Her 
“ life is hid with Christ in God,” and she is living in 
daily anticipation of her entrance into the unsullied 
radiance of the Light Ahead. 


THE END. 


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PUBLICATIONS' OF PHILLIPS & HUNT, 

605 Broadway, New York. 

Arctic Heroes. Facts and Incidents of Arctic Explorations. 

From the Earliest Voyages to the Discoveries of Sir John 
Franklin, embracing Sketches of Commercial and Keligious 
Results. By Rev. Z. A. Mudge. Illustrated. IGmo...,,. 00 

north Pole Voyages. Embracing Sketches of the Important 
Facts and Incidents in the latest American Efforts to 
Reach the North Pole, from the Second Grinnell Expedition 
to tho Polaris. By Rev. Z. A. Mudge. 16mo lUo 

Six Years in India ; or, Sketches of India and its People, as 
seen by a Lady Missionary, given in a Series of Letters to 
her Mother. By Mrs. E. J. Humplirey. Eight Illustrations. 

12ino 1 00 

Heroine of the White Nile; or, What a Woman Did and 
Dared. A Sketch of the Remarkable Travels and Experi- 
ence of Miss Alexina Tinn^. By Prof. William Wells. II- . 
lustrated. 12rao 85 

Spiritualism ; With the Testimony of God and Man against it 
By Rev. W. M’Donald. 12mo 1 00 

Earth, and its Wonders. By Charles Adams, D.D. DIub- 
trated. 16mo 1 OO 

General and Christian Elements of Theology. By L. T. 
Townsend, D.D. Flexible. 12mo. 45 

Systematic Beneficence; Comprising The Great Reform; 

The Great Question ; and Property Consecrated. 16mo.,. 85 

Livingstone in Africa. By Rev. S. A. W. Jewett Dlus- 
trated. 16mo 1 00 

Glimpses of our Lake Region in 1863, and other Papers. 

By Mrs. H. C. Gardner. 16mo 1 25 

Young Folks' History of Greece. By Charlotte M. Tonge. 
Illustrated. 16mo 1 25 

Manners of the Ancient Israelites. By Claude Floury. 
Enlarged by Adam Clarke, LL.D., F. S. A. 18mo 55 

Early History of the North-west. By S. P. Hildreth, M D. 

Ijargo 16mo 85 

The Freedom of the Will. By D. D. Whedon, D.D. 12ino. 150 

Word of God Opened. By Rev. B. K. Pierce. 16mo 1 00 

Studies in Theism. By Borden P. Bowne. 12mo 1 50 

Life Among the Choctaw Indians. By H. C. Benson. l2mo. 150 


J^UBLICATIONS OP j^HILLIPS ^ JiUNT, 

805 BROADWAY. N. Y. 

AYESHA. A Tale of the Times of Mohammed. By Emma 
Leslie. Illustrated. l2mo. Price, $i 25. 

FLAVIA ; or, Loyal to the End. A Tale of the Church in the 
Second Century. By Emma Leslie. Illustrated. i2mo. Price, $125. 

GLAUCIA. A Story of Athens in the First Century. By Emma 
Leslie. Illustrated. i2mo. Price, $i 25. 

LEOFWINE, THE SAXON. A Story of Hopes and Strug- 
gles. By Emma Leslie. Illustrated. i2mo. Price, $i 25. 
ELFREDA. A Sequel to Leofwine. By Emma Leslie. Illu'> 
trated. i2mo. Price, $i 25. 

QUADRATUS. A Tale of the World in the Church. By Emma 
Leslie. Illustrated. i2mo. Price, $i 25. 

SUNSHINE OF BLACKPOOL. By Emma Leslie. Price, 85c. 
HOPE RAYMOND ; or, What is Truth. By Mrs. E. J. 

Richmond. Illustrated. Large i6mo. Price, 85 cents. 

THE TWO PATHS. By Mrs. E. J. Richmond. Price, 85c. 

MEHETABEL. A Story of the Revolution, By Mrs. H. C. 
Gardner. Illustrated. Large i6mo. Price, $1. 

MORAG ; a Story of Highland Life. i2mo. Price, $1. 
MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. A Collection of 
Poems. Edited by Mrs. J. P. Newman. Square j8mo. Gilt 
edge. Price, $i 25. 

DEWDROPS AND SUNSHINE. A Collection of PoemS 
about Little Children. Edited by Mrs. J. P. Newman. Square 
i8mo. Gilt edge. Price, $i 25. 

JACQUELINE. A Story of the Reformation in Holland. By 
Mrs. Hardy. Four Illustrations. i6mo. Price, 80 cents. 

LUCIEN GUGLIERI. By Mary B. Lee. i6mo. Price, 50 cents. 

LILIAN. A Story of the Days of Martyrdom in England Three 
Hundred Years Ago. i6mo. Price, 75 cents. 

RENATA OF ESTE. From the German of Rev. Carl Strack. 
By Catherine E. Hurst. i2mo. Price, $1. 

THE LITTLE TROWEL. By Edith Waddy. Illustrated. 
I.arge i6mo. Price, 75 cents. 

JOHN RICHMAND; or, a Sister’s Love. By T. Taylor. Illus- 
trated. i2mo. Price, 85 cents. 

FRAULEIN MINA ; or. Life in an American German Family. 
By Miss Mary H. Norris. i2mo. Price, $1. 


Publications of ^hillips ^ puNT, 
805 BROADWAY, N. Y. 


STAR OF OUR LORD; or, Christ Jesus, King of all Worlds, 
both of Time or Space. With Thoughts on Inspiration, and the 
Astronomic Doubt as to Christianity. By Francis W. Upbam, 
LL.D. i2mo. Price, $i 50. 

PRINCIPLES OF A SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY. An 

Essay toward Solving some of the More Difficult Questions in 
Metaphysics and Religion. By A. BierLower, A.M. I2mab 
Price, $1. 

MISSION OF THE SPIRIT; or, The Office and Work of 
the Comforter in Human Redemption. By Rev. L. R. Dunn. 
i2mo. Price, $1. 

OBJECT OF LIFE. Illustrating the Insufficiency of the 
World, and the Sufficiency of Christ. Illustrated. i2mo. 
Price, $1. 

BUTLER’S ANALOGY OF RELIGION. With a Life of the 
Author. Edited by Rev. Joseph Cummings, D.D., LL.D., Pres- 
ident of Wesleyan University. i2mo. Price, $i 50. 

PHILOSOPHY OF HERBERT SPENCER. Being an 
Examination of the First Principles of his System. By B. P. 
Bowne, A.B. i2mo. Price, $1. 

LOVE ENTHRONED ; or. Essays on Evangelical Perfec- 
tion. By Daniel Steele, D.D. i2mo. Price, $i 25. 
METHODISM AND ITS METHODS. By Rev. J. T. 
Crane, D.D. i2mo. Price, $x 25. 

THE WISE MEN : Who they Were, and How they Came to 
Jerusalem. By Francis W. Upham, LL.D. i2mo. Price, $1. 

MISREAD PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE. By J. Baldwin 
Brown. i2mo. Second Series, price, 85 cents. 

MYSTERY OF SUFFERING, and other Discourses. By 
E. De Pressense, D.D. i2mo. Price, $1. 

NEW LIFE DAWNING, and other Discourses of the late B. 
N. Nadal, D.D. i2mo. Price, $i 50. 

PILLARS OF TRUTH. A Series of Sermons on the Deca- 
logue. By Rev. E. O. Haven, D.D. i2mo. Price, $l. 

THE GREAT CONFLICT. Christ and Antichrist. The 
Church and the Apostasy. By Rev. H. Loomis. i2mo. 85 cents. 
FROM ATHEISM TO CHRISTIANITY. By Rev. Geo. P. 
. Porter. i6mo. Price, 50 cents. 

POSITIVE THEOLOGY. By Rev. W. Lowry. i2mo. 
Price, $i 25. 

PROBLEM OF EVIL. Translated from the French of M, 
Ernest Naville, by Professor John P. Lacroix. i2mo. Price, 
$i 25. 


^Publications of ^hillips 

805 BROADWAY, N. Y. 


8f 


Discontent, and other Stories. By Mrs. H. C. Gardner. i2mo. 
Price, $1. 

Little Foxes. By the Author of “ Hour Maijorie Watched.” Il- 
lustrated. Large i6ino. Price, 75 cents. 

Helena’s Cloud with the Silver Lining. By the Author of 
“How Marjorie Watched,” etc. Price, 75 cents. 

Little Princess, and other Stories, Chiefly about Christmas. 

By “ Aunt Hattie.” i8mo. Price, 55 cents. 

Peter the Apprentice. An Historical Tale of the Reformation 
in England. i6mo. Price, 75 cents. 

Romance Without Fiction ; or. Sketches from the Portfolio of 
an Old Missionary. By Rev. Henry Bleby. i2mo. Price, $i 50. 
Dora Hamilton ; or. Sunshine and Shadow. x6mo. Price, 75 cts. 
Dying Saviour and the Gipsy Girl. i8mo. Price, 45 cents. 
Bessie and Her Spanish Friends. By the Author of “ Faithful, 
but not Famous,” etc. i6mo. Price, 75 cents. 

Ben and Bentie Series. School Life of Ben and Bentie. Price, 
90 cents. Camp Tabon Price, 75 cents. 

True Stories of the American Fathers. For the Girls and 
Boys all over the Land. By Miss Rebecca M’Conkey. Illus- 
trated. l2mo. Price, $1 25. 

Martyrs of the Catacombs. i6mo. Price, 75 cents. 

Anna Lavater. A Picture of Swiss Pastoral Life in the Last 
Century. By Rev. W. Ziethe. i2mo. Price, 85 cents. 

A Visit to Aunt Agnes. Illustrated. Tinted. Square I2ma 
Price, 85 cents. 

Suzanna De L’Orme. A Story of Huguenot Times. i2mo. 
Price, $1. 

Talks with Girls. By Augusta Lamed. i2mo. Price, $i 25, 
Story of a Pocket Bible. Illustrated. i2mo. Price, $1. 

True Stories of Real Pets ; or. Friends in Fur and Feathers. 
Illustrated. Square i6mo. Price, $1. 

Rosedale. A Story of Self-Denial. By Mrs. H. C. Gardner. 
i2mo. Price, $l 50. 

Royal Road to Fortune. By Emily H. Miller. Illustrated. 
T2mo. Price, $i 25. 

Simple Stories with Odd Pictures; or, Evening Amusements 
for the Little Ones. With Twenty Illustrations. By Paul 
Konewka. i6mo. Price, 65 cents. 

Through the Dark to the Day. A Story, By Mrs. Jennie F. 
Willing. x6mo Price, $1. 

Through Trials to Triumph. A Story of Boy’s School-life. By 
Miss H. A. Putnam. Illustrated. i2mo. Price, $1. 









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